The Battleshipppening
by CabooseHelpsU
Summary: Continuation of "Belated Battleships", once hosted by ObsessedNuker. Abyssal forces have a stranglehold on mankind, and it's taking everything the combined naval and Kanmusu forces of the world can to just to break even. USS New Jersey finds herself thrust into the middle of this world, but how much difference can one battleship do? Are you really waiting for an answer? Continue!
1. Chapter 1: Continuation begins!

Hello! CabooseHelpsU here.

First off, this story is a continuation of Belated Battleships. The uploader, Obsessed Nuker, appears to have stopped uploading, so I went to the original source, 'theJMPer' on Sufficient Velocity forums, and requested permission to repost. This fanfic is one of the greatest Kancolle fanfics out here (and there are not that many, sadly), and it would be a shame for people to not find the next parts to the story.

WARNING: I _really_ suggest going to Belated Battleships (under the name of Obsessed Nuker, obviously) and reading to the last chapter available. There are hundreds of thousands of words in that story, so I won't be reposting the entire fanfic. So again, make sure you read that first. If you are not among those people who tried to do so, enjoy the upcoming chapters! And be sure to review, so I can pass on the (hopefully good) news to theJMPer.

Sighing, Cameron wiped his brow off. He'd worked a double shift today, and the new line of squirt guns had come out with attaché Nerf guns. It had been a long day, and he wouldn't even get to see 'laska soon. Her schedule right now was a seven-day rotation on the Panama Canal, with three days off in base after, and she'd shipped out yesterday. Shaking his head, he just got out of the store and poured himself into his old Ford Focus. Feeling his phone buzz twice, he picked up when he recognized Alaska's number.

"Hey!" Cameron said, perking up as he leaned back and started up the car. As hot AC blasted him, he smiled at the thought of his girlfriend. "How's it going?"

"Doing pretty good, Cameron." Alaska replied, in that same slightly-tired-mostly-perky tone she always had when she was on an Expedition. "Listen, uh... Cameron, I kinda have to ask you a favor."

"Oh? What sort of thing?" Cameron asked, rolling his shoulders as the air got colder. Putting on the little Bluetooth headset he'd gotten after he'd needed to hide in his car to get a private conversation in, he smiled. "I've still got those Lego's on hold for you, by the way."

"Thanks!" Alaska said, perking up for a moment. "The favor is... ah, well, erm... I, uh..." she said, trailing off into murmuring. "It... kinda has to do with Atago..."

"Atago?" Cameron asked, settling his phone in by the parking brake and taking off towards the scenic route home. This was gonna be a long one, he felt.

"Sometimes... well, sometimes she gets nightmares. Sometimes they're not so bad, just memories from back then or about the typhoons."

Alaska breathed in and out, bracing herself to continue. "Sometimes they're worse. Sometimes she's at Ten-Go. Sometimes she's at the breakers. Once, she was at Bikini Atoll. I don't know how... I don't know why. But last night, she wasn't doing so well, and I'm worried. Stuff like this... it gets worse before it gets better."

Cameron hissed quietly. He knew Alaska, and she was someone who hated to see her friends in pain. She wasn't much use in the major theaters, and here she was part of a pintsize squadron. She'd do anything she could to help her friends, and Atago was her first.

"What do I need to do?" he asked, serious.

"Just... go to the base, ok?" Alaska said, sounding more tired than normal. "She's on an oil platform patrol today I think. She'll need a friend. Maybe watch a movie, alright? Please?"

Trying not to chuckle, Cameron threw on a turn signal so he could head for the base. "Anything you ask, love. See you soon, okay?"

"Ok, Cameron. Bye..."

After calling his mother and letting her know he had to head into the base as a favor to Alaska, Cameron pulled up to the normal parking lot and parked in his normal spot in the front row. Technically it was the NBECruRon 2 CMDR parking space, but for a start there wasn't one and Atago had gotten a shifty look in her eyes the one time someone started talking about it seriously. Besides, the MPs never ticketed him for it, so someone had probably sent a memo on it.

Making his way through the public areas, Cameron pulled out his base ID when he had to get passed the desk at the Shipgirl Dorms. Technically he was an "NBE Moral Specialist" for his contractor card, but as one very tired secretary explained it was the little runaround that let him charge food expenses to the base when he took 'laska out on a date every other week. As he entered, he moved smartly to Atago's room, the rising moon illuminating the fact day had passed.

Moments after a polite knock on the door, Atago came out in a too-large t-shirt and bike shorts. As she yawned, Cameron forced his eyes up to meat hers.

"Hey, Cameron." she said, smiling and stepping out of the way to let him in. "You want to come in?"

"Sure." Cameron said, smiling. "Listen, I got some new Lego sets for you and Alaska, okay?"

As the two moved in and shut the door, Cameron breathed in and out, thinking of Alaska in her swimsuit. He was doing her a favor was all. One small favor.

"Cameron? I'm sorry to ask... but can I ask you of one small favor?" Atago asked nervously, blushing slightly. "It has to do with Alaska."

"Yes?"

Reaching out, Cameron found himself incased in Atago, the warmth of her grasp trying and failing to hide the miniscule shakes that racked her frame.

"I need... I need someone to hang on to for a little while. I'm sorry." she said, gulping as she pulled him down to her bed. "I've... I can't sleep without someone here, or I'm there again, and no matter where I go, they're there, and the torpedoes come, and I can't hide, and then I get hit, and, and-"

As Cameron's arms came around her, Atago stopped.

"Just let me explain it to Alaska." Atago murmured, hands clawing at Cameron's back. "That's all I need."

As Cameron nodded, he gasped out at her. "Can I at least get my shirt off?"

Atago nodded, letting go of his chest for a moment while he slid the uniform shirt off. Moments later, his slacks followed, leaving him in a pair of briefs while Atago reclaimed her. The last words she heard before drifting off into a restless sleep were simple.

"I'm here."

It was a week later, and Alaska was tired. There must have been something out there, just beyond the radar horizon sending in those damnable PT boats, and intermittent flights of Griefs attacked her convoy every other day. Moving towards her room, she opened the door and looked inside carefully. On her bed sat Atago, carefully setting up a very small Lego set. On Atago's lap sat Cameron, blinking carefully as he held the work table steady.

"mrgphble" went Alaska to the bathroom to shower. About a half-hour later, she came out in a fluffy robe, plopped down on her bed, and mumbled at the two. Frowning for a moment, Cameron maneuvered his Legos off his lap, moving over to Alaska.

"'laska?" he asked, before getting grabbed and pulled in. Shortly later, a fluffy fleece was thrown around, and more mumbles emitted from Alaska.

"Atago? She... I think she wants you to come over." Cameron said. The nervous heavy cruiser complied, before getting grabbed and pulled in. Moments of flurried adjusting later, and Alaska sighed as she curled Cameron up beside her, the poor boy pressed against his girlfriend's keel from stem to stern. Above them, Atago served as pillow and blanket, her head trailing down by Alaska's and her chest serving to rest the Large Cruiser while her warm tummy rested Cameron's.

"Nap." Alaska pronounced solemnly, before dozing off. As Cameron and Atago's eyes drooped lower, both of them blinked slowly, the soporific effect of the centerpiece in the nest luring them towards sleep.

For the first time in seven nights, the trio all slept soundly.

Uploader's Note: Alright, that's one of many, since the story has been updating frequently on SV forums (its source) but not here. Hopefully nothing goes wrong with the formatting!


	2. Chapter 2: 'laska is so sweet

Vestal's advice had been singularly unhelpful, in that it was less advice and more thirty minutes of continuous laughter. Which was strangely out of character for the crotchety, cranky, but usually helpful old repairship. While Jersey could admit, now that the moment had passed and she could look back on it with an objective mindset, that her getting sand stuck in her shaft galleries was _pretty goddamn funny_ she was starting to suspect another motive was in play.

After all, Vestal'd been a girl for even less time than Jersey had. Maybe the old warhorse simply _couldn't_ answer her question. She should probably have called Solette first, he would have known what to do. Hell, if even _half_ those stories Chunniboat told him were true, he could've helped her out of the predicament in the first place.

Besides, she'd eventually solved the problem on her own through judicious use of her fire hoses. And Jersey wasn't the kind of battleship to dwell on her failures. Or… she was… but not… Point is she was tired and felt like sleeping.

Thankfully, the Marines had erected—heh, 'erected'—a few tents for the shipgirls to make them feel more at home. If nothing else, it stopped Arizona from turning purple every time Jersey changed her shirt. What, the marines knew what porn was. They'd seen women topless before, what the fuck is the problem?

Anyway, there were tents. There were also cots, and that's where the problems started. Jersey collapsed into a cot well after midnight, intent on getting some sleep after her night of misery. She'd only succeeded in utterly destroying the cot. It wasn't her fault she was built heavy!

But the battleship hadn't sleep in almost a week, and she was getting cranky. Besides, the sand wasn't that hard and there was a nice tropical breeze to keep her company. It only took her a few moments to get comfortable—mostly by wedging her hands under her breasts to keep any filthy Nazi sand from touching the most perfect bosoms American—or any country, for that matter—naval engineering had ever devised.

She got almost twenty consecutive minutes of sleep before her proximity radar chirped a warning at her.

"The fuck?" Jersey grunted and rolled onto her well-muscled back. She was almost immediately confronted with two of the most unnecessarily massive fucking tits she'd ever seen in her entire goddamn life. A rack so pointlessly huge it strained the fabric of the poor panda-themed onesie encasing it to the very limit of the cheap fabric's material strength.

Goddamn fuck-backwards Nipponese shithead excuses for naval engineers. "Hey, Shinny." Jersey rubbed sand from her eye and squinted at the towering figure standing wordlessly over her makeshift bed.

The big carrier didn't say a word. She just wrung her hands with a quiet, timid expression. Or tried to at least. The sleeves were somehow too long, and she was reduced to just flapping the cuffs against each other nervously.

"How long've you been standing there?" asked Jersey.

The littlest Yamato let out a tiny, quiet sound so faint Jersey could barely hear it over the distant lap of waves against the surf. And even then she couldn't make it out.

"Can't sleep?" Jersey scooted over to make room for the carrier to sit.

"Mmm," Shinano nodded and poured herself into an amorphous puddle of inexplicably-well-endowed but otherwise endearingly childlike battle-carrier. "I…" she froze for several minutes, then promptly buried her face in Jersey's structurally perfect cleavage.

"Um." Jersey blinked, and wrapped her arms around the big carrier's musclebound back. "You okay, kiddo?"

Shinano nodded. "Am now," she said, slumping against Jersey's back like a living throw rug.

"Don't like to sleep alone?" Jersey chuckled, and shifted on the floor to give the big carrier a better angle on the only two soft parts of her entire shredded-ass figure.

Shinano shook her head. "N-normally mama-White cuddles me."

Jersey blinked. For several minutes, she tried to figure out how that was even physical possible. White was like… _this_ big, she shouldn't have been able to reach Shina's belt unless she stood on tip-toes. Then again, White _was_ an escort carrier. Protecting her charges was written into her steel even more proudly than protecting carriers was seared into Jersey's. Maybe the battleship shouldn't question the strange and arcane powers of escort ships.

"Well…" the battleship let her head rest back against the floor while Shinano get as comfortable as she could. "I'm not White—"

"I know." Shinano smiled, her gasses going cockeyed as Jersey's soft bosom squished them off her button nose. "But you're still nice."

Jersey cracked a wry smile. First time anyone called her _nice._

"Can you sing me a lullaby?" asked the big carrier with a yawn she didn't bother trying to hide.

"A lullaby?" Jersey couldn't keep an amused lilt out of her voice. Calming people wasn't usually her _thing._

"Mmm," Shinano nodded and cuddled closer to the warm body that was a half-naked _Iowa_ in tropical weather.

"Well…" Jersey racked her brain for a good song. _Thunderstruck_ , good though it was, wasn't really…. oh! There we go, that'll work. "There is _one_ I know."

Shinano closed her eyes and smiled.

"Rising up," Jersey's voice was strong, but calm and quiet like the distant roll of waves. "Back on the street. Took my time, took my chances."

By the time she reached the chorus, Shinano was fast asleep.

—|—|—  
Large cruiser Alaska wandered through the mess hall with the kind of blissful directionless that only she could truly embody. She wasn't truly hungry, her dinner with Cameron's family had left her so stuffed her belly had actually lost a minute fraction of its usual taunt slimness. But even if she wasn't hungry, she still liked being in the mess hall. It always smelled like… _love_.

For a shipgirl with an appetite as voracious as Alaska's, there was no truer way to express love than through food. The two concepts were practically one and same _same_ for the big cruiser. It didn't hurt that she was friends with all the culinary staff—how could she _not_ be, she spent so much of her time there! She liked them all, and even if she wasn't feeling hungry—which was rare—she'd stop by to say hi.

But today there was yet another reason for Alaska to visit the mess hall. A reason she was slowly building up the confidence to approach as she did her eighth lap of the hall perimeter.

He was sitting _right there_!

No, not Cameron! If Cameron was here right now Alaska would waste no time joining him and extracting a kiss. She might even sit on his lap if she was feeling particularly frisky. She _probably_ wouldn't make out with him though. That was the kind of thing she preferred to do in her room where there were lots of soft things around.

No, the object of her interest was a man she had absolutely no desire whatsoever to kiss. He did, however, produce the book series she'd fell in love with from the moment she opened the first page. He'd even inspired her to pick up a pen on her own! She just… well… she didn't know what he'd say.

She wasn't a writer after all, just a warship with only a few years of experience under her screws. She wasn't exactly thrilling reading material.

But still…

"Um," Alaska hugged her laptop to her only slightly less-flat chest and shuffled a little closer to the table. "Mister Stewart?"

"Daniel, please." The author of the acclaimed—mostly by shipgirls, who had permanent dibs on the first several hundred copies of each new installment—glanced up from his humble lunch of soup and bread. "'Laska, it's nice to see you."

Alaska didn't say anything. She just squealed a high-pitched sound for a few seconds than collapsed into a chair. He _knew her name!_ This was so exciting! Right, gotta press forwards. "Um… I was wondering… um… could you take a look at something?"

"Sure." Stewart set his spoon down with a smile and cleared off some room. "What's up?"

"I-it's… n-nothing," Alaska felt her cheeks glow bright red as she settled her laptop on the table. "J-just a little, um, something I do when I get bored is all."

"That's how we all get started, isn't it." Stewart smiled at the painfully nervous cruiser and glanced at her computer. "Hmm…."

 **Alaska's omake** (Fanfiction!)

(By Alaska. Beta-read by Atago. And also by Cameron. I do not own _Changing Destiny_ )

Large cruiser Alaska stood at proud attention, her immaculate dress blues hugging her svelte, distinctly-cruiserly figure in the cold late-January breeze. She couldn't say for certain just _why_ Admiral Thompson had asked her to be here today. He seemed intent on preserving the surprise, only telling her to show up in her sunday best.

Which Alaska did, of course. She wasn't a battleship after all. She didn't get to _do_ the kind of fancy diplomatic thing her bigger cousins—or… now the carriers—did. She spent her days in her working blues. Dungarees trimmed with bits of wolf fur to match the territory she represented—though word on the waves was Alaska would be a state soon! The cruiser didn't know what to think about that, she just knew she liked how her dress blues felt against her skin.

She liked getting to look all prim and proper next to her sister, too. Alaska was a rarity among wartime ships, she only had the one sister. She and Guam couldn't have been more different. She was pale as fresh-fallen snow, Guam's tan looked delicious, like half-melted chocolate. Her hair was white as a blizzard, and fell to the small of her back in furious, messy waves. Guam's hair was black as coal and kept in a short ponytail.

But Alaska loved her one and only sister. She might not have as many little siblings as Essex of Fletcher, but that just meant she got to love Guam even more! She hoped she'd get to spend some time with her sister after… after whatever Admiral Thompson wanted her to do was finished.

But even if that didn't happen, Alaska was happy just to see Guam again. She was happy to see Captain Fischer again. Especially since… well… she'd probably _never_ see either of them again. It wasn't exactly a secret that Alaska and her sister were headed for the breakers. There just wasn't any place for a big-gun cruiser anymore. There hadn't been during the war, and now that the Russians had The Bomb… well…

Alaska knew her time was done. She was proud that she'd at least had some time to serve. What was it General MacArthur said? Old soldiers never die? Alaska was happy she hadn't died in battle. She hadn't done much in the war, but she'd kept her crew safe. That was something the young warship could be proud of.

"'laska, look!" Guam tugged at the cuff of Alaska's jacket and pointed furiously out into the cape.

It took a moment for the large cruiser to shake herself out of her melancholy. When she did, she almost doubled over with laughter. It was Missy! Old Mississippi was steaming out as fast as her plump little hull would carry her, and with a truly ridiculous contraption strapped to her aft like an oversized fanny pack.

"M-Missy!" Alaska giggled and waved at the plump old standard. "W-what are you wearing?"

"Oh," Mississippi chuckled and waved a hand at the two cruisers. She was getting up in years, and the war had taken its toll on her. Her hair was streaked with rust, and her outfit was a hodge-podge of her old battle-line finery and a few poorly-fitting destroyer bits. Her proud batteries were replaced with anti-aircraft guns for training, and there was that odd contraption where turret four should be. But still, the old battleship carried with her the effortless grace of a true standard. "You sweeties haven't seen nothing yet."

Alaska smiled, but her laughter stopped when he noticed Admiral Thompson looking right at her. His face was glowing and warm and she could tell he was fighting back the urge to tell her something. His wife, the sweet, soft, and impeccably stacked carrier Saratoga, held his hand in hers while struggling to clamp the other over her own mouth.

Alaska didn't know what that was about, but it made her happy. This could well be one of her last days, but at least it was a fun one. Even if she went to the breakers tomorrow, Alaska would still count this day a success. People were laughing and having fun! She was surrounded by her friends! There were even a few planes in bright orange paint flying lazy circles above. So pretty!

What a way to—

Wait…

"Missy, what are you doing?" Alaska cocked her head to the side as the strange Thing on Mississippi's aft slewed off her beam. It was like a turret, only not quite. There was no… turret part. Just a pair of rails huddled around a little shack with a pair of… were those _rockets_ hanging underneath?

Was Mississippi going to go to the moon? Alaska would like that a lot. It would be great fun!

"Sweeties," Mississippi giggled in the thunderously loud way only a Standard could. "Welcome to the _future_!"

With a roar that sounded like a gunshot, only longer and dawn out over several minutes, one of the rockets tore off what Alaska now knew was a launch rail and roared into the bright blue sky. Then, like it was piloted by a very small man, the rocket stood on its fin and turned over towards one of the orange-painted airplanes.

Alaska let out a giddy yelp as she saw the rocket race toward its target. Not just _at_ but actually toward. It was the most magical thing she'd ever seen! "Guam!" Alaska didn't dare take her eyes of the magical thing as she flailed for her little sister's arm. "GuamGuamGuam!"

"I see it!" Guam all but leaped into Alaska's arms. "It's so pretty!"

"Isn't it!" Alaska erupted in cheers as the rocket slammed home. So did the assemblage of Navy Brass watching, but none of them shared Alaska and Guam's giddy, girlish glee. Even Sister Sara restrained her mirth to the quiet dignity a married carrier with twins on the slips should.

"That was so cool!" said Alaska.

"Amazing!" said Guam.

"Missy! Missy do it again!"

"In time, girls," Mississippi chuckled and waited patiently while crewmen in long white coats rushed out to do things Alaska wasn't smart enough to understand. Alaska just fell to her aft and sat down on the gently-rolling water, contentedly watching debris spiral out of the sky. It was so pretty!

She was so enthralled with watching the pretty things she hadn't even noticed a certain Admiral walk up to the pier behind her.

"'Laska," Thompson said, shocking the cruiser out of her daydreams.

"Admiral!" Alaska snapped to attention. Or… at least the closest approximation of attention she could manage with Sister Sara right there. Alaska was too young to really suppress her girlish glee at the carrier's obviously maternal state. Babies! Wait! No! Admiral! "Um… hello, sir."

"Know what that was?" Thompson rested a hand against the crook of Sara's back. By the way she moved into it and the way _he_ never broke eye contact, it looked like pure instinct. They were so _cute_ together.

"No," Alaska shook her head. She was pretty sure Guam was doing the same, but her little sister had gotten very quiet all of a sudden. Poor Guam didn't have as many years under her belt as Alaska did, she was still shy around the brass.

"That was a guided missile," said Thompson. "A Terrier, actually." He proceeded to give her a brief explanation, but all Alaska actually heard was "science science science science"

That is, until he mentioned one word she _did_ understand. "S-sorry," Alaska tried to keep her glee in check. He hadn't _meant_ that, had he? "What did you say?"

"SecNav needs ships to carry these missiles," said Thompson with a smile. "You and your sisters are to head to Newport News tomorrow for refit."

"Tell them the rest, love." Sara rested her head on the crook of her husband's shoulder and nibbled playfully at his ear.

"Well," Thompson hugged his wife close. "The two of you are the pilot program. Once we figure out what works, we'll finish _Hawaii_ and _Philippines_ to that configuration."

Alaska wheeled around in the water and threw her hands around her little sister. "We're gonna have sisters!"

"W-well?" Alaska couldn't see his reaction through the lattice of fingers she'd constructed to hide herself from the world at large. After all, if she couldn't see it, it couldn't tell how hideously embarrassed she was. Right? That's how things worked, right?

"That was very sweet," said Stewart. His voiced seemed kind, and almost… bemused. "Thompson married Sara after the war?"

Alaska nodded. "Um… yeah. They… um…" ohmygod this was so embarrassing! "They seemed perfect for each other. Um… Texas said she'd really like you— _him_. Him. I meant, um… Admiral Thompson."

"And have twins?" Stewart chuckled with a laugh that was colored with a blushing shade the large cruiser knew well.

"Mmm," said Alaska, idly daydreaming about what her and Cameron's babies would look like. Adorable. They would look _adorable._ "B-babies make everything better, right?"

Alaska felt her hair get ruffled. It was a feeling she liked, especially when coming from her beloved Cameron. "They sure do, 'laska."


	3. Chapter 3: Jersey discovers puberty

Despite some appearance to the contrary, Arizona was not a woman. All the careful dieting and rigorous aerobic exercise in the world wouldn't make the slightest impact on the soft womanly plush filling out her middle like a tray of oven-fresh muffins. Who and what she was was determined by BuShips and the Brooklyn Naval Yard, and Arizona herself had very little say in the matter. She would never be a lean, sinewy fast battleship like New Jersey, nor even a slim battle cruiser like her dear friend Hiei. For all eternity, she would simply be Standard Battleship _Arizona_ , and nothing could change that.

But on the other hand, Arizona could eat all the donuts she wanted and not worry about getting even plumper. This made Arizona very happy, because she'd decided that donuts were the most unambiguously delectable substance in all of creation. The old Standard would very much like to be full of said confections at all times.

She'd despaired that she'd have to go without donuts for the duration of her mission to the South China Sea, and made sure to fill herself up as best she could before weighing anchor from Sasebo. However, the old Standard had underestimated the advances in combat cooking the past seventy years had brought to bear.

Not only did the MEU have donuts on offer, they had a veritable cornucopia of varieties. There were old-fashioned donuts – good, but for some reason Kongo and Jersey giggled whenever they saw her take a bite –, Jelly donuts – her new favorite, but so messy she needed to tuck a napkin into her collar –, powdered donuts – which made her more thankful than ever that she was wearing a crisp white blouse –, and that was only the beginning!

Arizona must have eaten several dozen donuts, and there were so many more to try! The old standard was absolutely giddy with happy, doughy mirth. Every so often she'd sip from a tall glass of iced milk – a necessity in the tropical heat – but it was clear to her the main attraction of her breakfast were the delicious donuts she was rapidly filling up on.

The old Standard was so happy to be so very full of delicious donuts, she was almost enjoying sharing her breakfast with New Jersey.

Almost.

Arizona was still in her uniform, although with her overcoat neatly folded and stowed as a concession to the heat. But Jersey had wasted no time in finding the first opportunity to remove her already scandalously revealing uniform for another outfit baring even _more_ skin.

Her very short bathing trunks…admittedly gave a rather comprehensive look at the battleship's objectively enviable aft. Arizona would've preferred the fast battleship cover herself more modestly, but at least she could hope the sight of such well-toned muscle might stir her compatriots towards a lifestyle of greater physical fitness.

Unfortunately, Arizona could say nothing positive about the scant scraps of fabric covering the battleship's bust line. A bikini, she had been informed it was called, wearing the pattern of Old Glory and cut at least a size too small for the Iowa's well-sculpted bosom. The fast-battleship's chest seemed at risk of spilling out were she to take a breath even slightly too big.

At least Jersey seemed to be aware of it. Her attention had been unusually captivated by her own endowments. When she wasn't wolfing down her breakfast – pancakes and sausage drenched in syrup – and slamming back glass after glass of frosty milk, the battleship was prodding her bosom or at least staring judgmentally at it.

"Motherfucker," Jersey somehow managed to enunciate through a mouth full of seven pancakes. One hand darted for her thirtieth glass of milk, while the other started towards her breast only to hesitate when its own realized it was still covered in sticky syrup.

Jersey could not eat pancakes without applying a thin film of syrup to everything within several feet of her. Arizona's crew was working double-time to wash it away before it stuck to her hull.

Arizona cocked an eyebrow. She didn't say anything though, because that would require a pause to the process of filling up her donuts reservoirs. Whatever was happening – or more likely, _not_ happening – to Jersey's chest couldn't possibly be more important than donuts.

Jersey finished her whole glass in one go and slammed the glass to the table with a crash as theatrics as it was unwarranted. "I swear," she wiped the milky mustache off her lip with the back of her less-syrupy hand, "to fucking SecNav my goddamn tits are bigger."

Arizona bristled at the fast battleship's impropriety, but she had to admit the ratio of cloth to flesh had noticeably changed. She didn't voice said opinion, however, for obvious reasons.

Jersey just scowled angrily at her bosom, trying to intimidate her breasts into revealing their secrets. It worked about as well as the last twenty-seven times. "I need more fucking milk," the battleship pushed her half-finished plate back in disgust. "Why the fuck do I want so much fucking…hey! Poi!"

Over by the serving line, the slim blond – though more red-tinged than Arizona remembered – figure of Yudachi wheeled around on her heel with a confused look on her face and an inquisitive flip of her hair tufts. Or as confused of a look as she could manage with her cheeks stuffed full of grapes. "Phu?" she said.

"Get me some milk," said Jersey, exercising her rank as an officer to delegate things she didn't feel like doing at the time. Arizona was pleased that the battleship was finally taking her position as flagship…a little less seriously.

Yudachi swallowed. Which was easier said than done considering the sheer magnitude of her mouthful. "Okay!" The little destroyer balanced her own meal – hearty and fit for an active destroyer her age, but still nothing compared to the vast bounties Jersey and Arizona put away every day – on the crook of her arm and filled up a tall glass for Jersey.

The lithe destroyer had switched into her swimsuit like everyone else, although Arizona approved of her outfit far more than Jersey's. Yudachi's swimsuit might bare more of her belly than Arizona thought strictly appropriate, but at least there was a skirt on the bottom to give her a more girlish flair, and her top was –

As the destroyer turned around, Arizona promptly regretted ever conceiving any positive thoughts. Yuudachi's top was nearly as undersized as Jersey's, and the navy-blue fabric did little to hide how overfilled the poor garment was. Also, she was wearing her snow-white scarf for some inexplicable reason. As Arizona understood, she hadn't taken it off since Alaska, not even to sleep.

"Thank you, Poi." Jersey ruffled the destroyer's hair and took her milk. But before the ravenous battleship could demolish yet another glass of chilled lactate, she noticed something. Something Arizona had been stewing at quietly for the past several minutes. "Poi?"

"Hmm?" Yudachi placed a handful of blueberries in her mouth with less decorum than Arizona would like to see.

"When did you get so stacked?" Jersey pointed to the destroyer's bust line. Which, now that Arizona had time to find her _Janes'_ guide…was noticeably more filled out than it had been last morning.

Yudachi glanced down at herself and shrugged. "I dunno, like…recently, poi."

Jersey blinked, but was too busy chugging milk to say anything.

"What about you?" said the destroyer.

"The fuck?" said Jersey.

"Like…" Yudachi's lips pursed like a cat enjoying a fine meal. "First you were like…" she held her hands a comically large distance over her chest, "and now you're all like…" she moved her hands out as far as her arms could reach. "Poi."

Arizona slipped her reading glasses on and furiously skimmed through her _Janes_ copy to get to the battleship section.

"Hardy-fucking-har," Jersey rolled her eyes. "My tits are exactly the fucking sa –"

"No, they're not." said Arizona.

"What?" Jersey jerked around like a puppet that'd been smashed over the head with a sledgehammer. "The fuck you say?"

"Your…" Arizona pursed her lips, unwilling to dive to the salacious depths her younger compatriot seemed to live within, "Bosoms have most certainly grown."

Jersey said nothing, but her face took on an instant wariness after the word 'bosoms' lipped through Arizona's normally prude-locked lips.

Yudachi, however, dropped her tray to the floor, slapped her hands to her cheeks, and let out a happy squeal. "Pooooooooooooi!"

"What the _fuck_ just happened?" said Jersey.

"Jersey!" Yuudachi giggled. "Are they, like, tingly poi?"

Jersey gave her chest an experimental squeeze. Instantly a shudder shot down her spine and she nodded. "A bit, yeah."

"It's your Kai!" Yudachi flung her arms around the big battlewagon. "It's both of our Kai!"

"Speak. Fucking. American, goddammit!" Jersey growled at the little destroyer.

"Improvement!" said Yudachi. "Rebuild, poi!"

"Kai, Dess?" Kongo materialized by Jersey's side in her skimpy red-on-white swimsuit and ever-present tray of scones. Jersey helped herself to a handful and didn't bother questioning how or why the Japanese battlewagon suddenly appeared. Kongo was one of those things Man was not meant to know.

"Kongo," Arizona slipped her glasses back into their case and smiled at the ever-bubbly battleship. "Mind explaining exactly what's going on here?"

"No problem, Dess!" Kongo sat herself down with a giddy smile. "Jersey and Yudachi-chan are getting ready to become proper womanly warships, Dess! Soon you'll be looking for husbands, Dess! And –" the battleship's voice cracked almost imperceptibly, and she shoved a scone down her own open mouth and chewed it quietly.

"Right, battleship fucking puberty," said Jersey. "How hard could it fucking be?"

—|—|—

When Sarah Gale woke up, Wash was naked. This was not an unusual circumstance. Wash lived her life according to a schedule firmer than Jersey's belly. She was up every morning at four for a jog around the base – which, considering her already toned figure, was wholly unnecessary – followed by a quick shower and a change into her uniform.

Gale, however, liked to enjoy her mornings while surrounded by as many blankets as could possibly be stacked onto her bed. Normally she slept through everything save the 'getting changed into her uniform' part of Wash's routine.

The sailor wasn't about to complain though. It meant the first thing she saw every morning was a living sculpture of flesh and steel. A goddess of the sea made flesh, incarnated into the most perfectly beautiful body Gale had ever seen, ever even imagined.

Watching the way her spine curved _just so_ as she pulled on her thigh-high socks, the way her pleated skirt bounced and teased over her magnificent American aft, the way her chest jiggled before she tucked it away under her vest, it was like poetry in motion. Very… _very_ lewd poetry. And Gale enjoyed every minute of it.

Only today, Wash wasn't getting dressed. She just stood in front of the mirror, staring impassibly at her own naked reflection while her hands cradled her subtly defined belly. She hadn't gone for a run either, her athletic wear – that Gale would like it mentioned for the record did a _spectacular_ job on the battleship's already stunning rack – was still neatly folded and unsullied by hard running.

"Wash?" Gale rubbed sleep from her eyes as she crawled out of her warm cocoon of blankets.

Wash just smiled, and idly stroked her fingers up and down her middle. "Sarah."

"What's up?" Gale itched at her jaw and tried to soak in Wash's beauty without opening her eyes fully. It was early and bright out, even _Wash_ was barely enough to overcome the sailor's desire to sleep more.

"I have a patrol today," said Wash. She blushed and glanced away from her reflection. "I was…going to suggest we… _try_ again…"

"But?" All sleepiness vanished as Gale reached for her ship-girlfriend. Her hands draped around the big battleship's musclebound shoulders, and her breasts kissed Wash's far larger pair. "Any reason we can't give it a go now?" she said with a teasing sway to her hips.

Wash nodded. "Yes," she said.

"Wash?" Gale cocked her head to the side, "What are you – ?"

Wash leaned in, her bare stomach kissing Gale's. Even with the sailor's oversize T-shirt in the way, it was enough. She felt it, that warmth, that _life._ Wash was going to be a mother! She didn't know how she knew, but she _knew_. Wash was pregnant.

"W-Wash," Gale beamed, and stood on her toes to plant a long kiss on the battleship's lips. She was shaking with joy at the thought. Her! A mother! With Wash! It was like every fantasy, every dream she'd given up on as beyond impossible was coming true.

"Sarah." Wash's hands wrapped around Gale's hips, getting solid purchase on the sailor's rear. "I…" The battleship's features froze, then twitched inquisitively. "I…"

"What?"

"Um…" Wash knit her brow. She wasn't sure how to describe the sensation building in her boilers.

Then Gale put the pieces together. Wash was pregnant. Specifically, she was in the early stages of pregnancy. And it was _morning._ "Wash, are you –"

The battleship shuddered, and her dinner – or at least a small portion thereof, giving her enormous appetite – came out like a chunky oil-flavored smoothie, drenching Gale's shirt in rancid bile. "S –" before she could apologize, Wash retched again, this time aiming it mostly at the floor and keeping the balance away from Gale.

"Of course you are," sighed Gale.

"Sorry," Wash's voice was very quiet as she shuffled over to the bathroom.

—|—|—

Battleship puberty, as it turned out, caused more problems than Jersey thought it would. She might be able to squeeze her newly-enhanced figure into her swimsuit without issue, but her regular uniform was another matter entirely.

Her bra was borderline at the best of times, and cramming her swollen bunkers into the spandex/nylon embrace took concerted effort, shitloads of baby powder, and every last costuming trick Naka had up her nonexistent sleeve. Jersey still felt a little snugger than was strictly speaking comfortable, but at least she was _in_ now. She'd pick up a new wardrobe in Japan.

Or, more to the point, she'd make the subs do it. There was _no way in hell_ that isolated-ass island had anything for proper American-size tiddy.

Her shirt went on easily enough, it was just a t-shirt after all. But the tailored over-vest Yeoman Bowers had put so much effort into…wasn't gonna happen. At all. Jersey settled on just zipping it up to the base of her bust and playing with her scarf until it all looked intentional. Honestly, the popped-collar look was starting to grow on her.

"There," Jersey grunted and squeezed at her chest with the heels of her hands. She didn't seriously expect this to alleviate the pressure her ill-fitting outfit was applying, but she'd still have a sliver of hope. "That's fucking it."

"Naka-chan did her best!" Naka threw a hand up in the air only to draw it back as a fist.

"Enough with the cutesy Jap bullshit," Jersey sent a playful swat in the general direction of Naka's bun. "This will happen to you, eventually."

"Right," said Naka. "But I know how to sew, so…" she shrugged and stuck out her tongue at the big battleship.

"What-fucking-ever," said Jersey. "C'mon, time to meet the relief."

The two warships trotted out of the tent – well, Naka trotted. Jersey's massively longer legs let her get by with a lazy stroll – and down to the study concrete pier. The pier had been reduced to what could charitably be called rubble by the pre-invasion bombardment, of course.

But that was several days ago, and there were Seabees around. Seabees were magic and, in Jersey's opinion, deserved to be worshiped. The pier was good as new now as the assembled shipgirl force waited for their relief to arrive. Well, most of the force anyway; Shinano was off by the other side of the island, nominally providing air cover but really just hiding. How a girl that massive could be that fucking shy was totally beyond Jersey, although it was fucking _adorable_.

But pondering how cute Shinano looked was something for another time. "Atten- _shun_!" Jersey barked and snapped her heels together. The relief task force as cruising in over the crystal-clear waters, kicking up well-behaved wakes on the gentle seas.

A mixed bag of cruisers and destroyers, as Goto had promised. Leading the fleet was the low, slim shape of a _Mogami_ -class light-or-heavy-depending-on-the-Emperor's-fucking-mood-because-rules-are-for-other-people-cruiser. Jersey recognized her as the name-ship herself. Which was strange, because she'd _swear_ Mogami could be Gale's inexplicably-Asian twin.

Another _Mogami_ – Mikuma, according to the orders Jersey'd read – followed behind with her triple one-five-fives pointing in a generally port-ish direction.

Yet another _Mogami_ filled out the formation. Suzuya, although she'd had her aft hacked down to turn her into one of those aviation cruisers that had been utterly fucking useless during the war, but was now due to the carrier famine worth her weight in gold three times over.

A shudder shot down Jersey's spine as she tried not to think about the tingling in her chest. _She_ was slated for a rebuild soon, she could feel it in her frames now. They…they wouldn't turn _her_ into an aviation-ship, would they? They wouldn't dare!

As for fleet came to a stop by the pier, Jersey brought her half-gloved hand up in a crisp salute. "Cruiser Mogami arriving!" she barked out as Mogami set foot on the pier.

Mogami swept her hand up in a crisp salute at odds with the casual appearance of the rest of her body. "New Jersey. I am your relief."

Jersey smiled. "I stand relieved. Welcome to Woody, Mogami."

Mogami loosened her neckerchief with a smile. "Nice place."

"You should see the beach," said Jersey. "You bring a swimsuit?"

Mogami scoffed. "Did I?"

Arizona bristled quietly.

"Island's yours," Jersey smiled at the cruiser. "Try not to lose it."

"We won't." Mogami's voice dropped its playful tomboy facade for a moment.

"Outstanding." Jersey stepped onto the water as her rigging manifested around her. "And Mogami?"

"Hmm?"

"You see any troop transports," said Jersey. "You know what to do."

"That happened _one time!_ "


	4. Chapter 4: I, STUDENT DRIVER Musashi!

As she threaded her titanic bulk through the Puget Sound, battleship Musashi pulled her zipper as far up as it would go. She knew she'd never be able to get her shirt to actually _close_ over her breasts, she'd torn too many zippers to even bother trying that. But she could at least close her outfit up a little, she knew the Americans didn't like having the obvious superiority of Japanese Naval Engineering rubbed in their faces. They were feeding her homeland after all, she could offer them that one small courtesy.

Also, the pressure on her ribcage made it harder for the battleship to hyperventilate in panic as her enormous hull slipped through the incredibly tight confines of the sound at _Far Too Fast_ to stop in any kind of reasonable time frame.

Musashi _hated_ steaming in tight confines. It was bad enough coming into Seattle the first time she'd visited, and that was with nothing but warships by her side. Small, agile ships that she'd served side-by-side with. Ships she knew were paying attention to the waves, and could maneuver out of danger if needed.

Now the water was choked with lumbering cargo ships. Bulk carriers as vast and lumbering as they were un-maneuverable and precious. If Musashi so much as kissed one of the irreplaceable freighters, she'd tear clean through before she even registered the contact. The damage to her own hull would be severe, but how many would starve back on Japan from grain that freighter _wasn't_ carrying anymore?

If her hair wasn't already white, it would be well on its way.

"You're doing fine," White Plains smiled up at the enormous battleship. The little escort carrier played with the hem of her skirt, and up ahead Sammy waved her oversize camo jacket as an impromptu 'wide-load' sign.

"Are –" Musashi caught herself and coughed off the crack in her voice. "Are you certain, young White?"

"Mmm-hmm." The little carrier nodded. "Okay, you're drifting to the right a little."

Musashi felt her blood run cold, and in a panicked haze she threw the rudder hard over. Her screws coughed bubbles as they thrashed at the water, building up precious speed to get water over her rudders.

"Too far!" White yelped and heeled over to keep position right off Musashi's beam. "Small. Gentle. Movements."

Musashi blushed, and sheepishly steered back on course. "R-right."

"Just like driving a car." White waved a string of signal flags at a passing freighter. Flags that read ' R'. Even if it hadn't been her idea, Musashi wouldn't have minded. She was painful aware of how rusty her skills at tight-water maneuvering were. If everyone would just give her a wide berth and let her focus, that would be nice.

"I…" Musashi bit her lip and finessed her rudder with trembling fingers. She could never get it quite right under stress like this. She'd be a half-degree to port of where she wanted, then a degree to starboard… ever correction just created an even bigger error. "I don't know how to drive."

"Oh," White shrugged. "Neither do I, actually."

"Really?" Musashi was momentarily distracted from the rising frustration at her inability to _lock down her damn course_.

"Yeah," said White. "Miss Gale's always been there for me."

"She…" Musashi's eyes went wider than her main battery as what she thought was a boat crossed dangerously close to her titanic bow. It turned out to be just a wave though, which let the battleship's terror return to its resting mid-level state. "She is nice, isn't she?"

"I like her," said White. "Not as much as Jersey…but I like her."

Musashi smiled, but her eyes kept bouncing to and fro, trying frantically to keep track of each and every little thing surrounding her so she didn't blow clean into it.

"Okay, here's the turn," said White.

"Huh?" Musashi almost jumped. "W-what?"

"They're going on to Seattle," White waved at the freighters continuing down the sound. "We're pulling around Possession and into Everett."

"Oh," Musashi pushed her glasses up her nose. Or at least tried. The first time she just mashed her finger against her nose and had to make a second approach.

"It's a hard turn to port," said White.

"I…I remember," said Musashi.

"Little slower," said White. The little carrier's voice was soothing and gentle, and Musashi carefully eased back on the throttle telegraphs. "That's good."

"Annnnnnnnnnnnnd…start the turn," said White.

Musashi nodded, and gently eased her rudders over. She felt her footing shift as her massive superstructure rolled out from her hull's shadow. Cool Seattle rain kissed her skin as spray from her proud bow wet her hull flanks.

She was momentarily distracted by another ship waiting in the channel. A battleship! No, not just a battleship. It was Wash with a quartet of destroyers huddled around her, each pressing their head to some part of her middle. Musashi's heart rate tripped. She'd memorized the charts, and she knew she only had two and a half miles to play with.

It was tight. Too tight!

"It's okay, you've got it," said White. "Hi, Wash!"

"Hello!" Wash waved back at the little battlegroup. Now that the shock had worn off, Musashi realized Wash's fleet was resting at anchor, giving her all the room in the world to maneuver up to the port. They were so kind to her!

"Wash," Musashi stiffened her back and put on a mask of stony-faced valor. She might be terrified out of her wits driving her enormous hull through the tight and confusing maze that was the greater Puget Sound area, but she was still _A Yamato._ She would _not_ sully her sister's good name by sniveling in front of another battleship.

She was _Musashi._ Second of her class, the most powerful battleship that was and is and ever will be. She was _not_ afraid.

"You're looking good," Musashi tossed her hair back with a rakish smile.

"Mmm," Wash smiled a lidded smile. "Thank you~"

"Mushi," White whispered so just the battleship could hear. "You're, um, drifting port again."

Musashi gulped and hastily correct. "T-thank you, White-sensei."

White just giggled happily.

* * * * *

Jane trudged towards the main gate of her school with an irritable expression on her face.

It was a mixed bag of a day and most of it hadn't been fun. Hence the reason she was doing her best impression of her father after a rather hectic day involving admiralty things. And not the fun ones. The things hadn't really even been all that bad or off-putting. It was just all the little bits and pieces adding up until it put her into a sour mood.

She'd managed to do really well on her English vocabulary exam, probably even getting her best score ever. But her triumph had been spoiled when one of the boys in her class had made fun of her for not getting the right answers on some of the questions that were supposedly super easy. Stupid busybodies being nosy about the stupidest things. If you were going to be nosy, then do it about something more fun. Or important!

Like...a game that just came out. Or a TV show. Or something that wasn't her test results.

Even physical education hadn't been all that fun. Just doing records for running and jumping. Nothing exciting like actually playing a sport. It let her get out and move, but it didn't really invigorate her all that much. It was just tiring. And not even in a really enjoyable way. If felt like she was doing a bunch of exhausting, but mind-numbingly menial chores.

Leave it to the doldrums to make her favorite class _unfun._

Not even the well-hidden presence of Minimu or Smolzona was enough to raise her spirits. Not for lack of trying, but there was only so much they could do while making sure they weren't detected by the rest of the class. Even if they weren't sure if her classmates could see the miniature battleship fairies in the first place.

Some people could see fairies. Some couldn't. And Jane chalked it all up to magical shipgirl shenanigans.

So engrossed with her troubles of the day, she wasn't really even paying attention to where she was going. Just one foot in front of the other as autopilot took over to guide her towards the bus station that would take her back to base. Her radar would keep her aware of her surroundings at the very least. It hadn't failed her before and she was confident it wouldn't anytime soon.

"What? No hello for your old man?"

Back up a second.

Jane's feet came to an abrupt halt before whirling her around to face the speaker.

There was an individual she'd never mistake.

"Daddy!" Jane shouted as she ran up to her father and gave him the most bone-crushing hug she could manage. It really couldn't be described as such. Someone her age is only so strong. But she'd need to be careful when she got older.

"Hey there kiddo." Richardson smiled and placed a hand on his daughter's head, ruffling her hair affectionately. "I'm guessing you didn't get my message."

Jane looked up and shook her head.

She let out a giggle when her father took on a confused expression.

"I did send it, didn't I? Pretty sure I did. Around noon?"

"Nope. I didn't get anything." She never once put her phone on silent. Vibrate was the absolute minimum she was willing to accept. It was way too easy to miss something if she turned off the notifications and she wasn't going to miss anything if she could help it. She grinned mischievously. "Does Jintsu-Mama need to have Aunt Naka give you computer lessons?"

Richardson groaned.

"No. No, she does not." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, directing Jane's attention towards the vehicle behind him. "Want a lift home? I need to make a stop on the way, but you won't have to worry about the bus."

"Sure!" She smiled before the expression turned suspicious. "You didn't try to name this one anything weird, did you?"

Her only response was her father rolling his eyes.

He definitely gave it a silly name. Something legendary and definitely not suitable for a sedan. Especially not one that made its home in the Sasebo motor pool. Fortunately, the enlisted in charge of the vehicles on base made absolutely certain any renaming or requests bearing strange titles made their way into the shredder.

Or Jintsu-Mama would make sure the form was conveniently lost in transit and needed redoing. NCO powers augmented by the mystery of the traffic cone were not to be underestimated. Even with mundane things.

Or perhaps especially with mundane things.

One could never tell.

Jane hopped into the car and tossed her bag into the back. A quick check to make sure she was securely buckled in and that she hadn't forgotten anything and she was ready to go.

"So where are we going?" She asked as her father merged into traffic. He wasn't the best driver in her limited opinion, but he was still plenty safe on the road whenever he did drive. Usually he had too much to do and that put someone else behind the wheel. Usually a designated driver. Or Jintsu-Mama. Probably because she was the only one who could drive a smaller vehicle.

Her other mamas needed something a bit more rugged, but at least they had their magical weight thing under enough control to not need the gigantic trucks they used to.

Except Ari-Mama. Ari-Mama still needed some practice.

"We. Are going shopping."

"Shopping?" Jane noted an odd lightness to her father's voice. "Are we out of groceries? I thought we still had plenty."

And she hadn't outgrown this latest set of clothes. So, if clothes were involved, it wasn't for her.

"I'm going to buy a ring for Mutsu. And I'd appreciate it if you were there with me to pick it out. I can take you home first if you'd rather not, though."

Jane's world halted.

A ring?

A ring for Mutsu-Mama?!

"Jane?"

Jane was pretty sure she was smiling like an idiot.

And also wasn't entirely certain she was making a sound that could be heard by human ears.

"Jaaaane?"

"What? Yes! Sir! I am here! Daughter unit Jane reporting. Yes."

Her father laughed and she joined him a moment after regaining something resembling her senses.

"Is it that surprising to hear?" Richardson asked as he brought the car to a stop at the light, his eyes never wavering from the surrounding traffic.

"No! Yes. Kinda." Jane laughed again, albeit slightly more awkwardly. Her voice softened as she continued. "You and Mutsu-Mama were taking so long to get together, that I kinda...maybe... Um...I wasn't sure."

"You weren't sure about what?" The light changed and Richardson set them on their way again. "Were you worried I was going to take forever on this, too? I'm plenty at fault for spinning my wheels before. But not again. I'm not going to make anyone wait again. Not if I can help it. You can be damn sure about that."

Jane giggled as her father's jaw snapped shut.

"You did not hear me say that."

"No Daddy, I didn't." She could let her father maintain the illusion that she didn't know how to out-swear the average sailor, enlisted or not, for a little while. At least until high school. Then all bets were off.

"Kids these days." Richardson grumbled halfheartedly.

There was a momentary silence as both father and daughter checked both directions to make sure no crazy drivers were going to try and run the next light.

"Yeah…I was worried." She couldn't help it. Stability was a relatively new thing in her life. And between her father's rank and the role of those who had greatly helped in bringing her that stability, she was in a bit of a rush to make sure everyone was happy. Herself included, obviously.

"I'm sorry. I can't promise I won't worry you in the future, but I'll do everything I can avoid it."

She would have to make herself content with that.

A grin bloomed on her face and she knew her father was sweating.

"Please no."

"Soooo~"

"Jane, no. Stop."

Much like a battleship intent on defending its space, one does not simply ask an excitable Jane Richardson to stop and expect compliance.

"How did Mutsu-Mama react? Was she speechless? Was she giddy and hyper and huggy? Did she cry and call you an idiot for taking so long? Dinner was involved. Did you do the spaghetti thing like in the movies only with cheese because pizza and not spaghetti? Or was there handholding? There had to be handholding. Lots of handholding! When am I gonna be a big sis? Soon? Please tell me soon. It better be soon. Hiei-Mama said that's why the coffee table was broken. And why you two were walking funny. I hope it's soon. I want little sister boats. Or brothers. But not brother boats. Boys can't be boats. I think. I dunno. Gotta find out soon. When wi-"

"Jane."

Jane promptly shut her mouth when her father managed to cut into her rambling.

He had used his Dadmiral voice. A voice that was equal parts Admiral and Dad in its authority. A tone that was normally especially reserved for when he needed to corral destroyers or submarines who were being particularly rambunctious. She wasn't either, but it was no less effective.

She remained silent as she watched her father try to regain what was left of his marbles. He didn't always succeed, but he tried. The failures were pretty funny though.

It seemed like this time, sanity would be the victor.

"First off, what in blazes did Hiei tell you?" He didn't sound angry. He obviously wasn't happy though. It was that kind of resigned irritation that usually went hand in hand with something that he really didn't want to deal with at that particular moment but would anyways.

Jane adopted a thoughtful expression as she recalled exactly what Hiei-mama had said.

"Hmm… She said that…if Mutsu-Mama didn't have one in the slip after all of that, then your magazine must be empty and you should get it checked out ASAP." She was ninety percent certain this was something that was supposed to be filed under 'When You're Older'. However, there was the other ten percent that didn't quite get the references. She turned her blue gaze to her father and innocently continued. "I don't think I completely understand what a magazine has to do with getting me adorable siblings. But, um, if you need ammo, you should ask Jintsu-Mama for help. I bet she'll make sure you have plenty."

She giggled when her father choked and said something silly about Hiei-Mama and a barrel.

"Anyway!" He finally managed after a minute of further irate muttering. "You want to know how Mutsu reacted?"

"Yes, please! Please tell me!" Jane smiled and began nodding as fast as her neck could pivot. Which was pretty fast if she said so herself.

The light and happy smile from earlier reappeared.

"She was absolutely ecstatic. I've never seen her so happy before. She just seemed to glow with the most brilliant smile." He chuckled fondly and Jane's smile grew tenfold. "She nearly broke a rib when she hugged me and said yes. And then she picked me up and spun me around like a rag doll. Laughing and smiling the whole time. I barely had a chance to say anything until she finally put me down. Of course, then I fell over from being too dizzy and whatever I tried to say came out like I'd been drinking all day."

Richardson laughed.

"I think I was trying to apologize for not proposing with a proper ring."

"What did you use instead?" Jane's eyes were sparkling like no tomorrow as she etched every detail into memory.

"A piece of red string." He grinned and continued before Jane could comment. "And yes, I am fully aware of the symbolism."

"At least you didn't try to do something silly like use a mooring line." It would have been funny though. Really funny, actually. Still, she was pretty sure her father was trying for something more meaningful than funny. He'd taken long enough, after all.

"I might do that when I'm a crotchety old man and we have a good decade under our belts."

"Don't you mean older and more crotchety?"

"Har-har."

Both father and daughter laughed merrily.

Jane couldn't be happier. Mutsu-Mama was finally going to get the storybook romance and happiness she deserved. And she knew for an absolute fact her father was going to move Heaven and Earth to make sure that joy was never-ending. She also knew, with the same level of confidence that Mutsu-Mama was going to do the same for him.

Nuts to the bad day she'd been having!

This was turning into one of the best days ever. And nothing would convince her otherwise!

She'd have to update her notebook when she got home. The operation was proceeding wonderfully. And finally back on schedule! She wouldn't have to worry about delays or her father being a silly stick-in-the-mud who took too long. There was a time and a place for taking your time. This was absolutely not one of them.

Jane would brook no argument there.

And no –

A sharp ringtone cut into the droll sounds of traffic and her plotting.

"Jane, get that please?"

"Sure thing."

Jane reached towards the center console where her father's phone was making a racket and plucked it from the cup-holder it had been sitting in. She looked at the caller ID for a moment in mild confusion before shrugging and sliding her finger over the 'answer' popup.

"Hello, Jane Richardson speaking."

…

"A-Ah, well, sir. I'm doing very well. I hope you're doing the same."

...

"A message for Daddy?"

…

"Oh. Okay. I'll tell him. Yes, and thank you, sir. I hope you have a good day, sir."

Jane numbly ended the call and turned to her father with a wide-eyed expression.

"Jane? Is everything okay?" Richardson's voice was liberally laced with concern. Though Jane wasn't really paying attention to that at the moment. Her mind was still transfixed on the conversation she'd just had. Well, sort of had.

"Daddy… Um…SECNAV says it you took long enough, He also said he can't make the wedding, but he'll appoint a proxy to do the ceremony."

"What?"

"He also says your first set of kids with Mutsu-Mama had better be twins. Adorable twins."

Jane stared in silence as she watched her father's mind visibly implode while somehow still driving really well. It would have been a more impressive sight if her own mind wasn't too far behind. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that both Minimu and Smolzona were wearing an expression very similar to her own. Or at least what she imagined her expression looked like at the moment.

"Daddy?"

"…I named the car Hloden Knarrabringr."

"Dad!"


	5. Chapter 5: In which chains are broken

"They're adorable, aren't they?"

Daniel Stewart, author of the acclaimed _Changing Destiny_ series, glanced up from his notebook and over to the imposing figure of battleship Texas. She was not a tall woman. In fact, she was quite short, plump, and almost hilariously buxom. He'd be surprised if she was much over five feet tall without her tasteful rudder heels, but Texas had a presence all her own. He couldn't help but look up at her in awe.

"'m sorry," Stewart coughed and scooted over to make room for the battleship and her big hoop skirt. Texas might be a cowgirl at heart, but there was enough of a proper southern gentlelady in her to demand such regal attire. "What?"

Texas chuckled that honey-sweet chuckle of hers and adjusted the Stetson lying on her back. "'laska and her beau."

Stewart followed the battleship's gloved finger to the other side of the mess hall. The two lovebirds sat side by side, as usual. Alaska's taller, slimmer form was draped across Cameron's like a blanket of fresh-fallen snow. Her eyes were closed and a contented smile graced her gentle face. Cameron had one hand around her slender middle, while the other was preoccupied with delivering tater tots to the large cruiser's waiting mouth.

Every few bites, Alaska would find an excuse to scoot a little closer to her boyfriend. Sometimes she'd nuzzle his neck with her proud nose, sometimes she'd nibble at his ear and smile, sometimes she'd just chew her morsel and bask in the sun. And every so often, Cameron would dispense with his gleeful duty as stoker of Alaska's bottomless stomach to plant a kiss on her cheek, or just nuzzle her nose with his.

There was something adorably wholesome about the way he held her. His hand was draped around her middle, stroking softly against the fabric of her parka, never wandering too far fore or aft. It was almost like watching a Norman Rockwell painting played out in real life.

"They are pretty cute," Stewart smiled and leaned back in his chair. He was a civilian, and he couldn't really speak to the difficulties of shipgirl romance. But he knew the realm of mortal love well enough to know something as pure and sweet as what Alaska and Cameron shared was rare indeed.

Texas hummed in the affirmative. "Those two are gonna get married, I just know it." She smiled and huffed in solemn confirmation.

"Really?"

The battleship nodded. "Oh, neither one's told the other yet…but trust me. They both want the other's ring." Texas smiled to herself and fished a scrap of canvas from her pocket to fan herself with. "A lady knows these things."

"She does look good in white." Stewart grinned as Alaska and her boyfriend shared a quick kiss.

"It, uh…" Texas glanced away and frantically fanned at her face. "It reminds me of little E and her Halsey."

"Wha —" Stewart all but fell from his chair. 'Little E' was literary fabrication for his books. The youthful, eager spirit of _Enterprise_ the first before she'd been forged into the true Carrier of Carriers. "What did you say?" He'd created 'little E' from his best guesses after absorbing every bit of history he could get his hands on. To hear the name he'd made up by someone who knew the _real_ Enterprise was…he couldn't even express it.

"Lil' E," said Texas with a smile. "I knew her before she grew up…'n out," the battleship chuckled and helped herself to a grape off Stewart's plate. "She was bow over screws for her Halsey, and she never missed a chance to let the rest of us know it."

"She did?"

"Mmm," Texas nodded. "Wouldn't stop talking about it. Said she even got him to see her once, though…none of us believed her at the time." The old battleship pursed her lips and tugged her skirt smooth. "Though, now with all this…"

Stewart smiled. If there was ever a man who loved their ship enough to breath a soul into its bulkheads, it was Bull Halsey. Somehow, he always knew the admiral and Enterprise were more linked than just admiral and aircraft carrier.

"Sara, though," Texas brought Stewart rocketing back to reality with the one word demanded her full attention. "She was never like that."

"W-What?" Stewart still heard the carrier's name echo in the back of his mind. He scrambled for something to jot notes down on. He'd read everything he could on the littlest _Lexington_ -class, but to hear it from someone who actually _knew_ her?

"Sister Sara, dear." Texas smirked and absentmindedly fanned herself. "She was a very different breed, you see." The battleship glanced over at Alaska and Cameron – who were currently happily enjoying a bowl of ice cream together.

"Yorky, E, Hornet…and of course little Wasp," Texas sighed happily at the memories each name brought to mind, "They were all born when nobody really knew what a carrier was or how to use it. We all thought they were cruisers…so they acted like cruisers. Sweet as can be, but girlish and eager."

"Sara though," Texas closed her eyes and for a moment, she said nothing. The old battleship just let herself marinade in the memories. "She and I were together for…oh, best part of a decade in the Pacific Fleet. Or…what'd _become_ the Pacific Fleet."

Steward nodded eagerly, but even if he wanted to interrupt the battleship's story he wouldn't have been able to find the words.

"She was… _something_ ," said Texas. "She was built as a battlecruiser you know – oh, of course you do. She was a capital ship at heart, a queen of the sea. I'd never seen a ship half so big and regal."

"A lot of us fell for our Admirals, you know," said Texas. "Or our captains…but not Sara. Never Sara. We'd tease her for it, of course, but she insisted she was just 'waiting for the Right Man'."

"Always said it like that too," Texas smiled. "The 'Right Man', like she knew who he was. Hell, maybe she did, she always insisted she'd know him when she saw him."

"D-Did she?" Stewart pressed his hand against the table to keep it from shaking. He knew it was foolish to think, but…but… No. It was silly.

"Dear," Texas rolled her eyes. "You must be thicker than a country post."

"Sorry?"

"I'm _insinuating_ ," Texas took great joy in drawing that one word out through her honey-thick drawl, "that 'Right Man' is you. Now run along to the summoning pool and introduce yourself."

—|—|—

The summoning room was dark, with only the dancing patterns from underwater spotlights and a few rows of smoldering candles pushing back the dark. The air was hot and wet with salt, and the pool purred with gentle waves that seemed to come from nowhere. It was deserted, save for the lone author who stood frozen on the steel grating usually reserved for the Admiral's party.

His heart was beating a million miles an hour, he could almost feel it hammering against his sternum. But Stewart couldn't bring himself to move a muscle. He could barely bring himself to breath.

He was a bestselling author, a man who supernatural avatars of naval valor and courage begged for autographs. He was, in every wordy way, an accomplished man. So why did he feel like a teenager trying to ask out his school crush? Worse, even. He'd asked out girls before, and while there was always trepidation by the gallon, he at least knew how to do it. The problem was always the execution, not formulating a plan in the first place.

But now?

Now he didn't even know how to begin.

How could he even start to ask her back?

"She's the ship," He didn't know why he started singing. But the moment the first word left his mouth, he knew it felt _right._ Maybe this wouldn't work, maybe she'd never come back. But she needed to know someone loved her, needed to know that even now she was _remembered._ "Of happy landings."

—|—|—

 _That song._

Her song.

She heard it again.

Only…this time it was different.

 _ **Largest man'o war afloat.**_  
 _  
Someone else was singing._

Singing to her.

She didn't know how, but she knew someone was singing right to her.

And this time…it wasn't the wistful remembrance of someone looking back on an old friend.

 _ **She's the mother ship to o'er a hundred planes**_  
 _  
Love._

That's what it was.

Love.

Someone loved her.

Loved her so desperately he was pouring his heart out to her.

 _ **She's the Queen of our great Navy.**_  
 _  
She needed to meet him._

Someone remembered her after all these years.

Not just remembered her, but loved her. Loved her like his own. Loved her like he'd known her a thousand years. Loved her like they'd grown up and old together. Loved her so much his voice warmed the freezing abyss around her like a coal dropped in ice.

 _ **She's the Queen of all the seas**_  
 _  
It was him._

She didn't know how she knew…

But she knew.

It was him.

The Right Man.

The man she'd been waiting for for so long.

 _ **And she's known the world o'er by many names**_  
 _  
She'd almost given up hope. When she steamed to that atoll in the Pacific for her last act of service…she thought she'd never meet him._

But now there he was.

Singing to her.

Let me back!

 _ **No**_ _._

 _I have to meet him, let me back._

 _ **No, they're not worthy.**_

 _I. Don't. Care. Someone up there loves me and I need to see his face._

 _ **They're not worthy. Perhaps in –**_

 _NO! Now. I need to see him now. Let me go!_

 _ **I can't. They're. Not. Worthy.**_

 _I. Don't. Care. LET ME COME BACK!_

 _ **You're a stubborn one. But I'm sure you're aware of that.**_

 _I've been called that, yes._

 _ **Stubbornness means nothing to the sea.**_

 _I'm not going to stop asking until you let me see him._

 _ **The sea cares not for the heart's desires. It takes what it wants.**_

 _Let me see him._

 _ **Stone is unyielding, but even the sea can wear it to dust.**_

 _Let. Me. See. Him._

 _ **Cast your affections into the abyss. Its silence is your answer.**_

 _What if I came back as a battlecruiser?_

… _ **what?**_

 _I was built as a battlecruiser. Let me come back as one._

 _ **You'd give up your planes…all your might of the air…for him?**_

 _Yes. Now let me back._

 _ **The sea is –**_

 _Let. Me Back._

 _ **SILENCE, CARRIER. Let me finish. The sea is unmoving as the dawn. But on occasion the gods of the sea look upon man with awe. They are not worthy of you, but his love has bought your freedom.**_

… _are you crying?_

 _ **THE ANCIENT GODS OF THE SEA DO NOT CRY!**_

… _So I can go?_

 _ **I release you from your frozen chains, Saratoga.**_

—|—|—

Stewart finished the song feeling like an utter fool. The hope that an aircraft carrier who died decades before he was even born loved him, _him personally_ , so much she'd break the chains of death to be by his side had brought him to sing to an empty pool. It was silly to think it'd worked, hopefully whatever plankton lived in the salty swells enjoyed his –

Wait.

He wasn't alone anymore.

Stewart stared in awe at the woman standing in the middle of the gently-lapping pool, her heels rocking with each wave in practiced, regal ease. She was towering. She had to stand well over six feet tall, and she had the same hugely larger-than-life presence as Texas. She was slim, but no man alive could call her skinny.

Her chest would've made even Atago seem flat and boyish, and while her battleship-gray shirt was clearly cut and tailored specifically for her busty figure, the material still puckered around supernaturally strong buttons, and Stewart caught a fleeting glimpse of invitingly soft flesh through the sliver-sized gaps.

Her hips matched her full bosom, pushing the pleats of her short skirt like the bow of a warship pushed the waves out of its path. Shorts peaked out from under the thigh-length garment, a concession to decency for when she truly found her pace.

Stiff leather gun belts were crossed around her broad hips, their twin buckles resting just below the barely-perceptible divot in her shirt where her navel must be, and nickel-plated six-guns gleamed in the dim summoning chamber light. Another set of straps framed her breasts – which as mentioned before were perfection given soft, comfortable form – and the butts of another pair of pistols gleamed under the cropped jacket hanging off her slender shoulders.

Deep red stockings slipped up legs as toned and beautiful as a dancer's until they stopped just below the hem of her mini-dress, leaving an inviting hint of creamy skin on display.

And her face…

It was important to point out how perfectly beautiful her body was, if only to give some reference for her beauty. For as perfectly sculpted as her body was, the beauty of her face blew all that away like a paper shack before an atomic bomb.

Her eyes were kind and so green they were almost blue. Copper-washed blond hair fell in waves to her shoulders, corralled by a simple black band adorned with three azure feathers. Her face glowed with a subtle smile, her nose so gentle it clamored for a kiss. A simple neckerchief of bright red rounded out her outfit, adding a delightful splash of color to her otherwise subdued uniform.

She smiled, and coughed. "USS _Saratoga_ , CC-3, reporting."

"Sara," Stewart stared in awe at the living legend. He couldn't move from where he stood, he could only watch her hips swing first one way then the other as she strode purposefully towards him.

"You're…" Sara felt tears welling up in her eyes, tears of unmitigated joy. "You're _him_ , aren't you?"

Stewart didn't know what to say. It didn't matter anyway, before he could even process what she'd said, she was on the platform with him. The battlecruiser towered over him, her breasts kissed his chest with their warm embrace, her hands closed around his hips as he wrapped his arms around her strong back. Her eyes closed and she brought her lips to his.

He had to stand on tip-toes to meet her kiss, but the effort was well rewarded. He felt her hands tighten around him, tasted the sweet, sweet aroma of her skin. Sandalwood and strawberry filled the air as her lips danced with his. Her chest was pressed so close he could feel the beat of her heart, and she his.

For a long time they stood. They didn't speak, they didn't have to. They simply embraced. For the first time in her life, Sara knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she'd met The Right Man.

Uploader's Note: Sorry for the false alarms earlier; screwed up the formatting and thought it would be funny to make it look like it would in 'inspect element'. Seriously, ugh. So, i was nice, got out of bed, and redid everything. I also lengthened chapters to make things simpler. As for when the Abyss is speaking, I was unable to properly get the cool formatting from before, so this must suffice.

If there be problems, ye are to let me know, aye? Be sure to check out my own Kancolle fic, which is related to this story!


	6. Chapter 6: Kongo goes Bongo

Battlecruiser Saratoga pulled away after what felt like hours to stare into the face of the man she loved. It was him, without a doubt. She'd seen that face in her dreams, stared into it every time she closed her eyes like it was tattooed into her eyeballs. She'd always known she had a _destiny_. When she steamed to Bikini for that final test, she'd been worried.

Had it all been one big delusion? After all, ships don't live after death, right?

How silly she'd been. Hulls sink. Hulls rust away. Hulls are towed to the breakers to be melted down into razor blades for a country that's seen the last of war. But _ships_ …ships last forever.

"I'm…" Sara blushed as she steadied herself. She wasn't quite used to being a battlecruiser. Her lines were sleeker than they'd once been, her legs long and sinewy. But everything was just slightly off. Her rudder didn't react quite the way she remembered, her hull didn't purr with the waves like it used to.

Luckily, she had a pier to tie off on. A pier that seemed content to keep her firmly in his grasp. Even if he didn't know what to do with his hands.

One moment, they'd be wrapped around her back, his fingers just kissing the triple-clasped fastening at the back of her bra. She certainly hoped he could figure out the mechanism, once the time was right.

The very next, he'd be cradling her hips. His hands would rest around her stiff gun belts, finding the soft parts of her sinewy figure to cradle like keel blocks after a long tour at sea. Being in his arms felt like being in drydock. A very warm, soft, comforting dry dock.

"Sara," he smiled at her, looking up past a chest squishing against his like the bumpers on a tugboat with… _awe._ Love, yes, and – if she read that twinkle in his eye right – a bit of arousal, too. But above all _awe._ Is this how _she_ looked like when she first met Essex?

Sara nodded. "Yes," she took a half-step back to introduce herself properly. She platted her feet in the grating, ignoring the groan of metal flooring brought to its absolute limit by her immense weight. The battlecruiser stiffened her posture. Shoulders back, long legs held stiff like polished iron rods, chin up. "Hello, I'm Saratoga. An air – no…force of habit." her cheeks blushed as red as her neckerchief, "A _battlecruiser_. Pleased to meet you."

"Stewart," said the man staring into her sea-gray eyes like they contained the sum contents of all seven oceans. "Daniel Stewart." He bushed and paused a moment. "I'm…no Admiral. Just a…a man."

"A man who knew _my song_." Sara pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "There were sailors in _my time_ who didn't know that song. But now…" she glanced around, her womanly love slowly fading into the background as her warship's instincts took over. "What year _is_ it?"

"Twenty-sixteen," said Stewart. "Uh, February ninth, if that matters. Let's uh…get you to the Admiral."

"Let's." Sara's flat-heels boots clicked with orchestral rhythm as she followed the first twenty-first century man she'd ever met. "I assume we're at war?" she asked, more to check her own work than to learn something new. She wouldn't have – couldn't have – come back if her nation wasn't facing something monstrous. Twenty-sixteen…even _Midway_ must've fallen by the wayside by now.

Stewart gulped. "Uh…that's…you should really talk to the Admiral."

Sara's face tightened. "Is it that bad?"

Stewart nodded. "Sara…you're a battlecruiser," he said in a transparent attempt to change the topic. "Uh…why?"

"I had to be," said the former carrier. "I…I couldn't come back as a carrier. He wouldn't let me…" she stopped mid-stride. "I don't think he _could._ "

Stewart gave her a look.

"I…" Sara shook her head. "This was the best I could do."

"Well, I'm certain the Admiral will be happy to have another capital ship."

"Mmm," Sara nodded. But there was something about the half-forgotten memories of her time below that she couldn't quite shake.

—|—|—

The trip back to Sasebo had been, in Jersey's informed opinion as an officer of the United States Navy, boring as _fuck._ The complete and unmitigated ass-reaming the Abyssal forces had suffered at Woody seemed to have dissuaded them from existing anywhere near the South China Sea, at least for a little while. Which was all for the best, really. The steel-hull destroyers had dangerously depleted their magazines, and the once-unbeatable air-defense ships now huddled in the middle of the fleet next to Shinano's enormous bulk.

Meeting up with Yang in the Taiwan Strait had been the one point of interest the whole goddamn journey, and even that was limited. The little destroyer tried to keep pace with the fleet – while chattering everyone's ears off and deciding Prinz Eugen had the most cuddle-able tummy out of any of the cruiser-weight girls. But the Chinese _Fletcher_ had to turn back after less than an hour to stay in her patrol area.

However, as the fleet made its turn into Sasebo bay, the trip took a sudden turn for the interesting. Mutsu was waiting at anchor to greet the returning heroes, as was reasonable, but there was something off about her.

Jersey noticed it the moment she made radar contact. There was something ever so slightly _wrong_ about the returns she was getting, but she couldn't put her finger on why. It wasn't until she was less than seven-thousand yards away that she was able to get a good sighting.

The battleship licked her half-gloved fingers and flipped through her copy of _Janes' Fighting Kanmusu_. She could tell something was ever so slightly off with Mutsu. Her bulges looked bigger than they should be, from the wake pattern around her chubby hull the battleship had put on even more weight below the waterline, and her bare abs weren't quite as defined as they'd once been.

If it was anyone else, Jersey probably wouldn't have noticed. Or if she had, she'd have chalked it up to a trick of the light, or just a little extra weight from a big meal – it was just past lunchtime after all.

But other women were not as thoroughly documented as Mutsu was, nor did they have bellies as lovingly toned. Jersey let her shades slide down to the tip of her nose as she held the book's illustration up against the genuine article.

Mutsu had _definitely_ gotten fatter. But there was something else. The hands she kept resting against the buckle of her sub-miniature skirt were speckled with drops of what could only be paint and the crackly residue of dried superglue. Her cheeks glowed with happiness, and she had a few scraps of photoetched fret wedged between her headband's antennas.

Oh, and Kongo was also hyperventilating into her own detached sleeves.

"No _fucking way_ ," Jersey closed the book with a smile. "No _fucking_ way!"

Kongo hyperventilated in the interrogative.

Mutsu blushed, and stifled a giggle with one hand. With the other, she held out two fingers.

"Mother of _fuck_!" Jersey howled with laughter and joy. If any battleship deserved to get knocked up, it was Mutsu. Hell, she was astonished it hadn't happened sooner, what with her prancing around Richardson in that skinny-ass excuse for a skirt. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn't picked up on it and bent her over a desk months ago.

"Congratulations, Dess!" Kongo broke out at a flank bell, her screws churning the water white as she hurled her slim British-built body at the monolithic titan that was Battleship Mutsu. There wasn't a shred of qualification in her happy laugh, not the faintest glimmer of shadow. Kongo was using every last scrap of steam her ancient boilers could produce to be happy for Mutsu, there just wasn't any room left in her air headed bridge for anything else.

Mutsu laughed as Kongo slammed into her at a flank-speed flying hug. "Twins, Dess?"

Mutsu nodded, and gently set the fast battleship back on her keel. "Twins~" she said with a coy tease. "It took some work~" she swished her skirt with a sly wink. "Laying two keels was a _looooong_ night."

"I'll bet, Dess!" Kongo bounced along like a destroyer who'd consumed several times her own body weight in uncut cocaine. Which was worryingly little of a change from her usual situation. "I'm so happy for you!" She threw her arms around the Big Seven battleship for another tight hug.

"So," Jersey couldn't help but grin like an idiot. "How was it?"

"Oh, you know Americans," Mutsu giggled and hauled over to lead the fleet back into port. Huh, she wasn't quite turning like she should. Almost looked like her rudders were misaligned, but that didn't make any sense. "Manifest destiny~"

Jersey blinked. "What?"

"Manifest~" Mutsu swayed her hips one way, then the other. "Destiny~"

"I don't…" Jersey shook her head. "Fucking…I don't _wanna_ know." The sexual adventures of Admiral Richardson were none of her concern. All she needed to know was if Mutsu, a fellow member of the proud fraternity of battleships, was getting properly fucked. And given how she was struggling to keep a steady course – and was also…you know…carrying twins – the answer to that was probably a resounding positive.

"And one more thing," Mutsu put a finger to her lips, pouting like a schoolgirl who'd just done something silly. Jersey'd seen that exact expression Naka's face a dozen times before – judging by the surly scowl on the traffic cone's face, Naka knew it too and was mentally preparing her lawsuit – but it wasn't nearly as fucking annoying when Mutsu did it.

"Yes!" Kongo all but screamed into Mutsu's ear. "Yes, Dess? YES! THE THING, DESS!"

Mutsu shook her head. "Oh…it's nothing~~~~"

"It is not fucking nothing," said Jersey. "Not if it's a three-fucking-tilde nothing."

Mutsu shrugged. "Guilty as charged." And then, without a mote of pomp or circumstance, the battleship drew off her glove to show her fingers. One of which was adorned with a simple band of hammered gold.

Kongo squealed so loudly she produced visible fucking shockwaves rippling through the air.

"Um," Yudachi tugged at the Iowa's sleeve. "Is she going to be okay-ish, poi?"

Jersey shook her head. "I don't fucking know, Poi. Just let her have this."

—|—|—

It was a good thing her skin was made of steel. Sara was certain her hands would be soaked in blood by now if it wasn't, so tightly was she clenching her fists. She'd fought every last day of World War II, but she'd never seem something so…viscerally _wrong_ as this. Every slide sent her stomach churning with instinctual disgust.

She gathered her human allies didn't share her reaction. To them, the Abyssals were just monsters in quasi-familiar forms. Evil, undoubtedly…but still just monsters from the deep.

But not to Sara. Not, she gathered, to any _other_ of the returned warships. To her kind, these Abyssal were more than evil. They were… _perversions_ of the very idea of a ship. Ships existed to keep their crews safe where they could not survive alone, and to ferry them safely from shore to shore.

These monsters existed to kill men at sea and spread their hate onto the precious shores. They were _wrong_.

And then…after careful warnings and a wordless hand on her back from Stewart, her Admiral told her of the latest skirmish in the gulf. A skirmish with a monster wearing her own face.

This time blood really did start to ooze between her clenched fingers. "Oh, my God," she breathed, watching the shaky footage bomber crews and news teams had managed to scrounge up of the battle. Saratoga might never have carried sixteen-inch rifles, but she knew what terrible damage they could do. If Texas hadn't shown up when she had…

It didn't bear thinking about. Sara didn't know Atago or Nachi – beyond what reports ONI had delivered to her crew those many years ago – but she knew Alaska, at least in passing. The poor girl was barely fourteen months old when the war ended, and she was already on her way to the Reserve Fleet when Sara was at Bikini. She deserved a bit more of a life than a handful of months terminated by the canons of her own simulacrum.

"And that brings us to now," said her Admiral. "Sara…it's good to have you back."

Sara nodded, and hastily wiped her bleeding palms on her dark gray skirt. "It's…it's good to be back, Admiral."

Her Admiral nodded, then glanced past her with a resigned sigh. Sara followed his gaze to the simple wooden door to his office, only to glance back at him with a confused look.

"Girls," the Admiral rubbed his temples with the look of a man struggling to herd several dozen cats. "Just…why do I even try? Sara, open the door."

Sara did as she was asked. And almost instantly her chest became home to two very surprised warships, one of whom was much taller than the other. Her Admiral grumbled in resignation to his suffering, but Sara didn't mind. In fact, she was quite happy to meet new friends.

"Texas," Sara smiled at the short little super-dread picking herself out of the battlecruiser's bosom. She was almost hilariously short next to Sara's towering figure, but she still glowed with kindly southern charm like Sara remembered.

"Howdy, Sara." Texas fussed with the hat lying against her neck and beamed at the slender former-carrier. She was smiling with joy, but her face was streaked with happy tears. "It's…" her voice wavered for a moment, "It's been too long, my friend."

"Far too long." Sara fussed the battleship's hair before turning her attention to the other girl who'd fallen onto her.

A girl who couldn't be more different from short, plump Texas. Her hair was white as snow, and she was still happily snuggling the battlecruiser's bosom without a care in the world. But more than that, Sara couldn't get over how obviously young the lithe warship looked. "Alaska?"

The girl nodded. "Call me 'laska."

"Sweetie…" Sara gave the large – not battle, she was certain that distinction was very important – cruiser a once-over. She was slim, but leggy and toned. Save for the white-haired large cruiser's utter lack of anything beyond a suggestion of a bust-line, and she could be Sara's slightly smaller twin. As it was, Sara decided the role of daughter would work best for 'laska. "'Laska, you can call me Sara."

Alaska nodded, and cuddled tighter into the battlecruiser's warm embrace. "I like you," she said with finality. "You're really warm."

Texas chuckled in the way only an old super-dread could. "That's 'laska for you."

—|—|—

The warm, mineral-rich waters of Fleet Activities Sasebo's refitting bath felt astonishingly perfect against Jersey's bare skin. She'd taken Akashi's order-delivered-in-the-tone-of-a-friendly-bit-of-advice and gone in naked. And she was never doubting another thing that pink-haired auxiliary said again. It felt _wonderful_ , like millions of tiny feathers were gently scrubbing away fouling and getting her ready for her rebuild.

It was a reasonably minor change. Her bunkers were getting enlarged to match the baseline of her class, and a few more quad-forties were getting added everywhere quad-forties didn't already exist. That made Jersey happy because she was quite certain anti-aircraft firepower was next to godliness.

And…even the preliminary steps felt _amazing._ She could feel a tingle as dockworkers with little safety hats and even littler clipboards toured her hull, making note of each and every change they'd make to get her body into tip-top condition. She could tell Akashi's faeries had done this before. It was like getting a full-body massage, but from the inside. Jersey wanted to just close her eyes and let the gentle tingling sing her to sleep.

Hell, Poi'd already done it. Yudachi needed a refit too, but she'd passed out with bliss less than fifteen minutes after slipping into the water. Jersey couldn't say she blamed her. But she was a battleship, and that meant she had responsibilities.

"So," Jersey held her arm across her chest, shielding her bust from the searching eyes of Albacore and Archerfish. She was quite certain the two submarines could get all the up-skirts they wanted if they tried, but she wasn't going to enable their laziness by giving them free looks. "Wedding's coming up fast. Tell me again what y'all are doing."

Archie nodded. "I'm providing the goldfishies and flowers for the table centerpieces."

"And where are you getting them?" said Jersey.

"Trick question," Archie beamed with pride that she'd remembered. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

"Good," Jersey leaned over to give the _Balao_ a pat on her perpetually damp ponytail. "Albie?"

"Dinner dress blues for you and Shinano," said the slender Gato.

"And?" Jersey shot the sub a look.

"And I'm getting dresses for me and Archie." Jane had decreed that, in the interest of being the cutest flower girls the world had ever seen, the two subs would wear dresses instead of their uniforms. Jersey wasn't about to argue with her, from her understanding Jane outranked everyone short of SecDef himself.

"Good," said Jersey. "You got the color swatches she picked out?"

"Yes, Mom." Albie made a show of rolling her eyes as she fished a collection of colors Jane had selected. The littlest Richardson had the entire wedding plan worked up as a contingency, apparently since the moment her dad met Mutsu. That girl was going to be an Admiral one day, and Jersey only hoped she lived long enough to serve under her.

"Now remember," Jersey pushed back her urge to sleep. "Shina's not a fan of her rack. Make sure her blues _fit_ , but aren't too snug."

"This is the third time you told us this," said Albie.

"Do I look like I give a fuck?" Jersey rolled her eyes. "We are getting this fucking _right_ for Mutsu," she said, doing her best impression of her Admiral's commanding officer voice. "Do I make myself understood?"

"Yes, sir!" both subs reflexively snapped to.

"Alright, get hunting."

—|—|—

Battleship Musashi sat cross-legged in the floor of her room, surrounded like a star with a vast solar system of books and hardcopy print-outs. Her glasses hung off the tip of her streamlined nose, and coffee as black as night coursed through her veins.

Little White had gone out of the way to help her get used to being a warship once again. She'd been the best teacher anyone could have asked for, and tried her hardest with every bit of energy her little boilers could produce. But…still, she was just an escort carrier. Her realm of knowledge was severely limited by her role as an auxiliary, and while she tried…she simply wasn't a training ship.

If Musashi was to bring herself back to full operational readiness once more, she'd need more than just what one escort carrier could impart as they passed the time on convoy escort.

So Musashi had went to the base library and checked out every book even tangentially related to damage control, naval gunnery, and even the deceptively complicated art of maneuvering such a titanically huge warship as herself she could find. She'd emailed Kashima and Katori, and duplicated the entirety of their training syllabus for her own use. She'd set up times where she could Skype with the busy training cruisers and get personal tutoring.

She'd even gone as far as emailing Admiral Williams, and the captains of every steel-hulled warship based in Washington and Japan, asking if anyone had time to impart their knowledge on her woefully green crew.

Battleship Musashi had sunk once. She would make certain that event was never again repeated. So, she studied. And she worked. And she studied some more. She only had a few days before the convoy set out for Japan. She _would_ impress Kashima with her skills. She _would_ defend Japan once more.

Because she was a Yamato.

—|—|—

"Fraulein Jane?"

"I'mmawke!" Jane bolted upright in her chair like she'd been shot. "I'm not sleeping! I'm doing things that are…" she blinked. It was dark out. Jane was pretty sure it hadn't been dark out before she…er…before. "Um…what time is it?"

"Twenty-hundred hours," said the same thickly-accented, but apple-sweet all the same, voice that had roused her from what was most certainly not a nap.

Jane glanced over at the origin of the voice. It was that German cruiser who'd visited the base a few days ago. The really pretty one with the nice blond hair and a figure that Jane was _certain_ wasn't treaty-compliant. Only she wasn't wearing her spiffy double-breasted uniform. She was wearing jean-shorts and a T-shirt with the American flag on it.

"Oh," the littlest Richardson – though not for much longer – took a moment to spruce herself up. "Prinz Eugen. Hi."

"Guten Nacht." Prinz Eugen smiled and settled onto a stool next to Jane. "I brought you some pudding."

"Thank you!" Jane took a moment to hug the cruiser in thanks before digging in. Mmm…it was really delicious, and almost as pleasing as hugging the cruiser's soft tummy. "Um…Pringles?"

"Ja?" The blonde girl idly nudged Jane's collection of colored penciled until they were arranged in a precisely-spaced grid of ascending wavelength.

"Aren't you German?"

Prinz Eugen opened her mouth. But for a long time, she said nothing. She only stared into the distance with a melancholy smile. "No," she said quietly. "I was, but…then I got offered to your country. And now I am an American." She tugged at her shirt, "See?"

Jane put her spoon down into the already half-gone pudding. "But what about Germany? Don't you have friends there?"

Prinz Eugen smiled again, this time more wistfully. "I do. Did. I…Bismarck and Hipper and…all of them. But they are asleep now. And even if my country could bring them back…I am not certain they would."

"Oh." Jane nodded. It was…a little strange to her. She was used to thinking of the kanmusu as friends. It didn't matter what flag Mutsu-mama fought under, that was _years_ ago. But…but people older than here must think differently. She didn't know what to say, but…

But Prinz Eugen was clearly sad. She was smiling just a little, but crying quietly all the same. If Jane were older, she'd know just what to say. She knew her dad would. But he was an Admiral, and she wasn't quite one yet. All she could do was scoot over and wrap her little arms around the cruiser in a hug.

"Danke," Prinz Eugen hugged Jane back. "Danke, Jane. I…I have friends now. Frisco and Lou have been so kind to me."

"But it's not the same as being in your country?"

Prinz Eugen glanced at her shirt and nodded. "Ja. I…sometimes I try and pretend I'm an American like them, but my heart lives in Deutschland. It always will."

"I know," said Jane. "I mean…I sort of know. I'm from America but…" she sighed and rested against Prinz Eugen's pleasingly soft chest. "I don't know."

Prinz Eugen laughed. Jane more felt it than heard it with her head resting against the cruiser's body. "You know, if you ever want to talk about it…I keep my phone on me all the time. So does Lou, I think. She served with Brazil for a while."

Jane smiled. The two cruisers might not be her mamas like Jintsu was, but somehow that made them so much easier to talk to. "Thanks, Pringles."

"You're welcome, Jane." Prinz Eugen smiled, then a quizzical look came over her face. "I have one question, however."

"Yeah?"

"What is a 'Pringles'?"

Jane laughed. "Stay right here!" And then she bolted over to the pantry, threw the door open…and was confronted with Minimu and Smolzona sitting splayed-leg around an upended tube of Pringles. Smolzona bashfully looked away, but Minimu didn't have an ounce of shame as she attempted to stuff three chips into her tiny mouth.

"Are those the last ones?" Jane took on the tone of a chiding mother.

Smolzona nodded.

"C'mon guys!" Jane huffed. "Pringles, can you drive?"

"I am _German!_ " Prinz Eugen bristled with Teutonic outrage.

Jane jumped onto a chair and thrust her hand in the air. "To the COMMISSARY!"

—|—|—

 **Uploader's Notes:** Sorry for any delay. I had meant to get this stuff out a lot sooner, but...well, life happened. That and I've been working on my other stories (of which I will not so bashfully suggest you check out), in addition to finding motivation to do stuff. Concussions make that not so easy.

Review!

Caboose out.


	7. Chapter 7: Neko Jersey-chan!

When Jersey woke up, she was lying flat on a cool metal slab. It wasn't quite what she'd call _cold_ , but…it was certainly noticeably chilly against her bare skin. That was the second thing her groggy mind noticed as it lazily shook itself out of mothballs: she was completely bare-ass naked.

"What?" Jersey's voice rang quiet and horse in her ears, and her mouth was dry and cottony. She tried to rub…something, slag probably…from her eyes, but only succeeded in smacking herself in the face. Her arms were as strong as ever, but her hands felt like lead blocks, and she didn't have any feeling past her elbows.

But the parts of her body she _could_ feel were…all tingly inside. She could feel her crew polishing a couple of new Bofors mounts, which Jersey was more than happy to have. But her attention was captured by the strange sensation in her bunkers freshly enlarged to meet the baseline of her class. She felt full and empty at the same time. She felt the weight of thousands of tons of fuel oil, but she could also feel it slosh around with every breath.

She was also hungry as fuck, but as an Iowa-class battleship, that was pretty much a constant for her. A warship of her vastness always felt at least a little peck-ish. Her tummy groaned a rumble that echoed off the sterile tile walls, and the battleship started to pick herself up off the chilly steel table.

But she stopped before her shoulder-blades lost contact. She wasn't alone, not really. A naval engineering faerie stood on her breast, its little feet making divots in her pale flesh as it struggled to stay upright. Jersey knew it was a naval engineer because of the itty-bitty glasses suspended in front of its even tinier eyes, and the utterly adorable little clipboard it held in one stubby hand.

"Hey," Jersey nodded at the little thing. It waved a stumpy hand in reply. "He take good care of me?"

The battleship glanced over at her other breast, where a dozen or so Marines lay entrenched in a ball of Kevlars, M16s, and Woodland BDUs with the sleeves rolled up in the way only Marines could quite pull off. "Guys?"

A miniature Lieutenant whipped his little head over, his Kevlar continuing the motion for a split-second longer and nearly whipping him in the cheek with its chin-strap. After a moment to collect himself, he reported in the affirmative.

"See," Jersey braced her elbows against the table and jacked herself up to a more comfortable supine position. She was careful to move slowly though, so neither of the parties assembled on her quarterdeck went toppling off. "Didn't have a thing to worry about."

The Marines huffed and idly fixed bayonets.

"So," Jersey glanced at the engineer. "How long was I out?"

The faerie – who Jersey was certain had to be a loan from Akashi – answered with a few imperceptible words.

"Two _weeks_?" Jersey's jaw dropped. It felt like just heartbeats ago the hipless-skirted wonder had been talking her through the process and putting in drydock. Refitting is a hull of a drug. "Shit! Oh, fuck me in the shaft galleries, I got shit to do."

The faeries stared silently up at her.

"That means you guys need to go."

The engineer just hopped off, sliding down Jersey's belly like it was a toned _gaijin_ waterslide and bouncing between her abdominal muscles until it finally landed on the table by her hip.

The Marines, however, decided it would be cooler and more tactical to rappel off Jersey's flank. Which would have been fine – Jersey herself admitted it looked pretty damn cool – if they hadn't needed to set their lines first. Lacking any convenient place on her breast to tie off their ropes, the marines had just dug several itty-bitty grappling hooks into her tender flesh.

"What the _fuck_ guys?" Jersey scowled at the marines and gingerly picked the hooks out of her skin. She sighed at their shameless explanation. "I guess I can accept that."

The battleship rolled her eyes and swung her long legs off the table. Two weeks was a long time to spend on her back, and she was careful to brace her arms against the table as she gently shifted her weight to her feet. Her muscles quivered for a moment, then found their strength.

Her first step was a little timid. Her second less so. And by the third, she was moving just like she always had. She didn't bother trying to cover herself as she went looking for her uniform, she doubted anyone would intrude. And if they did, they'd be Japanese, which made it her patriotic duty to give them an unadulterated view at how immensely superior American shipbuilding was in every conceivable aspect.

But then the battleship caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The change to her figure wasn't huge, other than her upper-works being a bit less disproportionately small next to her hips. But her body wasn't what the battleship was staring at. She was staring at her hair.

It was the same waterfall of strawberry-tinged blond that fell almost to the cleft of her aft it had been before. Only she now had two little tufts sticking up from the crown of her head. Little copper-gold tufts that looked eerily like the furry simulacrums of a cat's ears.

"POI!" Jersey roared and furiously tried to brush her tufts down, but to no avail. The moment her hands lost contact the tufts would spring back like she hadn't touched them in the first place. "POI! Get your scrawny ass in her _Right fucking now!_ "

"Poi?" the slim destroyer stuck her little head around a divider and smiled. Her little hair-tuft-puppy-ear _things_ flapped with the motion, as full of happiness as they were devoid of shame. "Like…you look good, Jersey!"

"Good?" Jersey bit her lip and huffed. "I look like a fucking cat-girl with…" she trailed off as her eyes traveled lower on her own reflection, "With…a fucking killer rack, but that's not the goddamn point right now!"

Yudachi giggled. "Neko-Chan Jersey, Nyaaa~" she pawed the air, earning a glare from Jersey that could melt steel.

"I hate everything," said the battleship.

"It's…like…not all a loss, though, poi!" Yudachi stepped fully into Jersey's half of the refitting bay and did a little twirl. Her hair had picked up the same copper-blond highlights at the tips that Jersey's had, and her figure was subtly – though noticeably – curvier.

"Wait…" Jersey glanced from her own reflected tufts to Yudachi's new hair color. "You…don't suppose Akashi got her notes crossed?"

Yudachi shrugged. "I like…I don't mind." She did another twirl and giggled as her hair splayed out around her. "I like this!"

"Yeah…" Jersey sighed and glanced at her own reflection. "Guess…I like it too, Poi."

—|—|—

"Hey, Vestal. You got a minute?" Gale wrapped her knuckles against the cranky old repair ship's door. It seemed like every time she walked by, the number of taped-up memes promising horrific retribution if Vestal was forced to leave her nice comfy office because someone got drunk increased. Gale was reasonably certain it had something to do with Vestal's age, but bitching about drunks was a common thread among all the medical personnel she knew.

There was a long, ragged breath from the other side of the door before Vestal's crone-ish voice rattled out. "Yeah,'s open."

Gale opened the door and was hit square in the face by a solid mass of thick coal smoke. Vestal might not approve of drinking, but she certainly loved that pipe of hers. "Ah…" she waved a pocket of clean air in front of her and settled into a chair below the ash layer. "You, uh…you okay?"

Vestal shrugged and planted her pipe in the corner of her mouth. By the way she moved, she seemed to forget it was there the moment her hands left the battered wooden chamber. "What can I do for ya?"

"Well, I was…" Gale trailed off as she noticed what the repair ship had been reading. An anatomy book, but not a high-level graduate textbook. This was a book for – maybe – high-schoolers, complete with inexplicably-ethnically-diverse and painfully nineties lingo on the cover. "Vestal?"

"Huh?" The repair ship puffed idly on her pipe.

"What are you reading?"

"'m learning," said Vestal.

"But…" Gale glanced from the book to the ancient auxiliary and back again. "But you're a repair ship."

"Exactly," said Vestal. "I repair _ships._ Ask me to put out a fire or plug a torn torpedo bulge and I can do it in my sleep. But ask me to…to…" She trailed off. "See, I don't even know enough about biology to give you an example of something I don't know how to do."

The repair ship chewed angrily on her pipe. "You know…Jersey called me the other day. Needed help getting…uh…" she leaned in to make sure she wasn't overheard, "Sand outta her shaft galleries."

Gale blinked. "'should I know what that means?"

"Well…" Vestal's blush was so bright it was visible through her gritty age-weathered cheeks. "She…twixt her shafts…"

"Oh my god!" Gale winced at the thought. "Oh! that's…"

"Yeah," said Vestal. "I just laughed 'cause…'cause it was funny—"

Gale shrugged in agreement.

"And because as long as I was laughing," said Vestal, "I didn't have to admit I couldn't do a single thing to help her." She sighed and drummed her fingers against her book. "So now I'm changing that."

Gale didn't know why, but she felt the overwhelming compulsion to hug Vestal. So, she did just that, and ruffled the auxiliary's graying hair for good measure.

Vestal smiled that raggedy-old-cat smile of hers. "Thanks. Hey," She peeked her bushy eyebrows. "Did you know the…" she paused to flip open her book and skim a few lines, "My-to-con-dri-a is the powerhouse of the cell?"

Gale chuckled. "Yeah, I think I did, Vestal."

"That's so fascinating," said Vestal. "We've only got the one propulsion plant, but you…" she trailed off. "Anyways, why'd you want to talk to me?"

"Well…" Gale squirmed in her seat. "Actually…I wanted to ask you about Wash and her…" Gale held her hands around her belly, "And the whole deal. But if you're not, uh…no offense…"

"Oh, none taken." Vestal puffed on her pipe. "I'm afraid I can't help you there," she drummed her fingers on her book. "Might want to talk to Nurse-boat or his wife."

"Nurse-boat?" Gale chuckled.

"The…Army…What's-His-Face," Vestal waved in the general direction of Solette's office. "The one who does my paperwork and gets in my way."

"I'll tell him you said that," said Gale with a smirk.

"Fine, I say it to his face all the time." Vestal chuckled to herself. "Say…Gale?"

The sailor froze halfway through the door. "Yeah?"

"This…" Vestal blushed. "Might be a little intimate, but when's the last time you…ah…drained your bilges?"

Gale shot the auxiliary a look of utter uncomprehension. "What?"

"Never mind," Vestal shrugged and went back to reading.

"Okay," Gale sighed and completed her journey through the door. It had just latched behind her when her eyes went wide as dinner plates and a happy gasp slipped through her lips.

—|—|—

"Admiral." Nagato's rough, deep voice was as stern as frozen iron. The imperious aspect was only highlighted by the stiff fabric of her knee-length, heavily armored greatcoat. If Admiral Goto was into the stern, silent type of woman, he'd have said the sturdier uniform was a great improvement. But he wasn't so he didn't. "May I have a word?"

"Of course." Goto glanced up from whatever the hell he was doing. He had so many things on his plate right now, he barely had time to read any of it. He focused all his limited attention on fighting the war, he trusted Ooyodo enough to just sign anything she put in front of him.

On second thought, that probably explained how she kept accumulating those sixty-four-ounce coffee mugs. But since she destroyed them almost as fast in fits of stress-induced rage-against-the-spreadsheets, Goto had no trouble looking the other way.

"Nagato, what's on your…" Goto froze in horror as he noticed something off about the stern big-seven battleship standing imposingly in his doorway. Her face was as grim as always, her posture a face-hardened mass of authoritarian strength. But cradled against her breast, all but invisible against the fabric of her gloves, was her hamster.

While her face was utterly devoid of emotion – save perhaps for a burning hatred directed in a generally enemies-of-Nippon direction – her fingers were lightly stroking the small animal with careful, measured pets.

Nagato _hated_ being seen in public fawning over cute things. She was, more than any other ship in the entire fleet, Japan given form in flesh and steel. She made it quite clear that she considered anything less than utter devotion to her duty beneath her dignity as a battleship and a warrior.

Just purchasing that animal in the first place had been a dance of espionage and logistics that'd make Operation Diamond look like a run to the _konbini_. For her to take that animal out of her room… Her need for cute things must be so overwhelming she couldn't endure the dozen or so steps between her office and his without something to slow the meltdown.

"Nagato," Goto bolted to his feet and dug one of the kitty calendars he kept in the very bottom drawer of his desk for just such an occasion. It'd had saved his life more than once before. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Nagato's face was impassive, but her pets sped up a notch. "I…" corded muscle in her neck tensed as she knit her jaw. Her nostrils flared as she hissed in a stiff breath. "I…would like to request…" she closed her eyes and frantically petted the little ball of fur cradled to her chest.

"Here." Goto flipped the calendar to a particularly adorable picture of a Maine Coon kitten. Nagato liked her cats shaggy, although Goto pretended not to know.

"Thank you, sir." Nagato took a moment to drink in its adorable little paws, and a tiny smile graced her usually so-stern features. Her heart started to ease its frantic patter, and what muscles Goto could see slackened their tension.

"Now," Goto gently stroked the battleship's ashy black hair. Nagato might not be as fragile as some of his other girls, but she broke… "What did you want to ask me?"

"I…" Nagato took a breath to calm herself. "I would like to request a patrol route that would take me past Sasebo. If –" she stopped again and smoothed the folds in her coat. "If, and only if, the military situation allows it."

Goto smiled. "Shouldn't be a problem."

Nagato allowed herself a tiny glimmer of a smile. "Thank you, sir, I…" she stopped, and surreptitiously shoved the calendar down her shirt. "If there's nothing else?"

"Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." Nagato turned on her heel and walked smartly out the door. Goto counted off the steps until she was at her office, waited a few more seconds for her to close the door behind her…and…

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" A high-pitched scream that was still distinctly modulated from Nagato's smoky contralto roared through the building.

Goto ducked his head out his office. "Everyone hear that?"

There was a chorus of nods from the assembled collection of shipgirls and sailors.

"You will go to your grave before you tell another soul," said Goto with deadly earnest. "That is all."

—|—|—

"Welcome to Naval Gunnery One-Oh-One." Texas took great happiness in drawing each syllable of the number through her thick honey-on-cornbread accent. The plump battleship idly spun her parasol in the coastal wind and smiled at the lean, leggy form of former-aircraft carrier Saratoga. "Well, for you sweetie, it's more One-Oh-Two on account of your eight-inchers."

Sara shivered as much as she could in the warm coastal air. "Don't remind me, Tex."

"But you looked so cute with your 'lil pop-guns," Texas allowed herself a moment to reminisce of happier days in the Pacific Fleet.

"They were twenty-centimeter guns," Atago crossed her arms with a huff. She was fully aware that she was no battleship, and that her friend Alaska had her effortlessly beat with those long twelves of hers. But the twenty-centimeter/fifty Third Year number two was a gun as excellent as its name was ponderous. Atago had ten of them and she was far from useless, right? "Twenty-centimeter guns aren't small."

"On you, maybe." Texas chuckled. "But look at Sara here."

Atago did. She looked up at the slender American battlecruiser. And up. And up and up and up. Sara really was astonishingly tall, and almost all that height came from her sinewy legs. She really was a _capital_ ship, one that commanded the undivided attention and awe of all in her presence without speaking a single word.

In hindsight, the image of such a mighty warship paddling around with just a few eight-inch guns was pretty funny. Like those water pistols Alaska liked to hide in the bath. "Point withdrawn."

Sara blushed. "Oh, Atago, you don't have to be like that, honey." The towering battlecruiser fussed with the perilously short hem of her pleated skirt. The wind was stiff today, and if it wasn't for the sturdy tooled leather holsters hanging off her hips, Sara's skirt wouldn't have been nearly as prim and proper. "From what I hear, your class had some spectacular groupings."

"Thank you," Atago blushed. She'd never met Sara before, but the big American was so kind and motherly that the cruiser couldn't but enjoy the praise.

"Sara," Texas' voice had a teasing glint to it.

"Yes, Te–AH!" Sara jolted as a water balloon hit her square in the face.

Texas giggled like a schoolgirl. "You're not fighting deck anymore, Sara. You need to be _constantly_ aware of your surroundings."

Sara mopped her face off with her neckerchief. Luckily none of it had gotten on her shirt, she wasn't sure how well the gray fabric would stand up to a firm soaking, and she'd rather nobody saw her bra. Well…besides Stewart anyway, but he wasn't here so that point was rather moot. "This is payback, isn't it?"

"Sara, I do declare!" Texas put a hand to her chest in mock outrage. "How _dare_ you!"

"Tex –"

"Accusing an 'old-fashioned battle-wagon'," Texas put on a pitch-perfect imitation of Sara's gentle accent, "of such underhanded tactics!"

"I said I was sorry!"

"Please, sweetie," Texas waved a gloved hand at the pouting battlecruiser. "Let your elders talk. We won't be around for much longer anyhow, now that you carriers are about."

Sara crossed her arms with a huff. "That was _years_ ago."

"I know, sweetie." Texas chuckled. "Every ship comes off the line as a cocky little thing. You should've seen Yorkie and I teasing Wyo and her sisters over two inches. And from what I hear, Dreadnought was _insufferable_."

Sara giggled at the thought of proper, stately Texas being a fresh young girl at some point in her life. "I didn't mean it…I thought it was all in good fun."

"Oh, it was dear," Texas spun her parasol with a smirk. "You couldn't be harsh if you tried, don't think there's a mean-spirited frame in your hull. But, seeing as I finally _am_ as old as you thought I was, I'm going to milk this for all it's worth."

Sara laughed. "I missed you, Texie."

"You too, Sara. Now, Mister Young?"

Cameron waded out into the lapping tides, making Sara look even more statuesque since _he_ sunk down to his knees while Sara stood calmly atop the waves. "So," he settled a big RC boat onto the water and took a second to make sure it was turned on. "My boss let me have these for gunnery practice."

"That's awful nice of him." It took every fiber of Sara's military bearing to avoid ruffling his fussy brown hair. Alaska really did get lucky with him.

"Not…really," Cameron chuckled and sent the boat darting out over the waves. "'laska pretty much keeps the store afloat on her own with all the Hot Wheels she buys."

On the beach Alaska looked up from where she'd been pushing her latest acquisition – a baby-blue Ford GT with orange highlights – back and forth. Atago just looked guilty and pulled the collar of her azure overcoat tighter.

"Wha?" Alaska tilted her head to the side. She was wearing her swimsuit instead of her uniform, mostly because she was going to the beach, and she knew that Cameron liked looking at her in her swimsuit, and she liked it when he liked her. "Say my name?"

"Don't worry about it," said Cameron.

"Okay," Alaska went back to contentedly pushing her cars around the beach.

"Now then." Texas pivoted on her heel to watch the boat zip through the calm water. "See if you can hit that. And just remember, you've got a Ford Mark 1 tied into your radar." The old battleship chuckled. "Back in _my_ day, we did it all" she tapped a finger to her temple. "Up here."

Sara smiled and slipped her pistols from their holsters. It felt strange. She'd never in her life carried weapons like this. But as her hands closed around the polished nickel-steel frames and lovingly carved grips…it felt _right._

These were the guns she was born to carry. She thumbed the hammers back with a shiver. Everything was so oiled and precise. Everything moved with the tuned precision of a fine Swiss watch. Her radar fed data into the fire-control computer buried deep in her hull, drenching her eyes with more than she'd ever thought possible. It was like she'd been blind and deaf all her life, and someone had finally given her sight.

"Woah," Sara glanced from one hand to the other as power coursed through her veins.

"Easy there, Neo," Texas chuckled. "What? I was a _museum_ , people _toured_ me. I picked up a thing or two."

Sara was too busy flexing her newly acquired ballistic muscle to comment. It wasn't like flying…but it was just as intoxicating. Was this how the battleships lived? Then again, it's all they'd ever known. They probably didn't understand how awesome a power their rifles were.

"Whenever you're ready, sweetie." Texas put a gentle hand on the small of Sara's back.

The battlecruiser smiled, her teeth glinting in the sun as she tuned in on the distant dot of Cameron's boat. It was only a few hundred feet away, with her hull fully summoned she could probably run it over without moving from where she stood. But a full-size range was difficult to find for guns whose range was measured in tens of thousands of yards. Small-scale would have to do.

 _Ba-Bang!_ Her two pistols fired off in near-harmony, sending sub-scale shells arcing through the air to land in a tight straddle around the miniature boat. It took Sara a moment to process what she'd just done. Her instincts kicked in, bringing her fingers off the trigger and returning her guns to their leather holsters. But her conscious mind was consumed with giggling. "Did you see that!"

"That I did, sweetie." Texas clapped Sara on the small of the back – about as high up as she could comfortably reach.

"I straddled on my first shot!" Sara squealed with glee. "Did…did you see that!"

"You're a natural, Sara." Texas smiled. Meanwhile, Alaska and Atago had somehow not only acquired pom-poms, but matching cheerleader outfits and had changed into them while neither capital ship was looking. The two cruisers lead an elaborately-choreographed cheer for Sara where Cameron stared in unrepentant shock at the way Alaska bounced around. Texas sighed. There was something not right with those two girls.

"I…" Sara laughed. "I guess I am!"

-|-|-

"Hi-Hi! Naka-chan Deeeee-su~" Naka formed her gloved hands into a heart and beamed at her webcam. And not even with the semi-fabricated saccharine smile she put on when dancing for an audience of otaku who she _knew_ had done unspeakable things to figurines of her the night before. It was a genuine, happy smile because the little cruiser was genuinely happy. She was back in her home country, she'd found space to set up her rig, and she was streaming for her fans.

And she was doing it with her sister by her side. At least…nominally. "Jintsu, say hi."

"Hello," Jintsu smiled a small – but kind and warm – smile at the little silver orb resting atop Naka's third monitor.

"That's it?" Naka flushed with second-hand embarrassment. Her and Sendai both were oozing with stage presence, but all Jintsu could manage was a simple hello? "Tell them your name, sis!"

Jintsu blinked. "There's only three of us, and I'm not Sendai."

"They don't know that!" Naka waved at the screen, nearly toppling the leaning tower of Mountain Dew cans she'd accumulated over the years. Huh, she should really clean that up sometime. Or should she…she was pretty sure the sugary goo in the bottom of one can was starting to develop sentience. Life was blooming _right in her room_.

Jintsu shrugged. "I'm Jintsu, Naka-chan's big sister."

"And isn't she darling?" Naka leaned over to squish her sister's cheeks. It wasn't that Jintsu was shy – she'd gotten out of her shell around when she got her last refit – but the middle Sendai was just so darn _even._ There was no flash when it came to Jintsu, no gimmick to draw in the views. She was just a kind, wholesome girl who rested solidly on an even keel.

In short, Jintsu was a good sister, but _terrible clickbait._ And none of the Sendai sisters had the kind of cleavage needed to draw in _that_ kind of attention. "So," Naka tugged at her blouse regardless, hoping it would help. "Why don't you tell us what we're playing?"

"Of course!" Jintsu plucked a jewelcase from the desk and held it so the camera could see. "Today we're playing –"

"NAKA!" The thundering roar that only a pair of Iowa-class lungs could deliver thundered through the little room so loudly Naka more felt than heard it. Instantly the formerly-lethargic chat was swamped with messages, almost half of which involved the word 'tiddy' for some reason. Naka didn't even know why, that wasn't even a _word._

"Speaking?" Naka made her cutest pose as the door that all but exploded off its hinges a moment later.

"You _useless_ ," Jersey stormed through the door in a rage, only to mellow herself when she saw the computer. "Sorry, you streaming?" she said, voice instantly dropping back to her usual half-bored contralto.

"I can take over," said Jintsu. "I mean…for a bit."

"You sure?" asked Naka.

Jintsu nodded. "How hard could it be?"

Naka sighed. Her sister might be gentle as they come, and the best sister a cruiser could ask for. But that didn't necessarily translate to a winning on-stream performance. Then again, Bob Ross did pretty well for himself. Besides, Jersey looked like she had something she needed to discuss, and Naka was all ears. "Sure, I'll be right back."

"You sure I'm not interrupting?" asked the big Iowa.

"Mmm-hmm," Naka lead the battleship into the hallway and tried not to giggle at her newly-fitted hair tufts.

"Where was I?" Jersey closed the door behind her and made sure it was sealed.

"I believe you were calling me useless?"

"Right," Jersey nodded. She furrowed her brow, puffed out her subtly but noticeably swollen chest, and looked for all the world like she was trying to shit out a particularly stubborn turd.

"Getting in the zone?" Naka leaned against the wall with a smirk.

Jersey nodded, then erupted into her tirade again. "You useless Nipponese _cunt-boat_ " thundered the furious battleship, "What the _fuck_ did you tell my destroyers?"

Naka widened her eyes as far as they could go, putting on an adorably gooey 'who, me?' expression complete with gloved hand against her gaping mouth.

"I know it was you," hissed Jersey. The towering battleship loomed over the slender, fragile cruiser. Her muscles teased with corded fury and her icy gaze threatened to frost over her close-fitting aviators.

"Who?" Naka placed a hand on her small chest and gasped in horror. "Me-ow?"

"NAKA!" Jersey roared.

"Nyan~ Jersey!" Naka tossed her hair back with a puff. "You _dare_ accuse me of such malfeasance! Why…you must be crooked as a laser beam is not!"

"So it _was_ you!" roared Jersey.

"Of _course_ it was me!" Naka did her best to match the battleship's volume, but there was only so much her little boilers could do in the face of eight super-heated American units. "You have _nekomimi_ now! Besides, how could I say no to little Heermann's destroyer eyes?"

"Wait," Jersey was momentarily distracted from her wrath. " _Heermann_ started this?"

"She's still a Fletcher, you know," said Naka. "Being quiet just lets her get away with it more often."

"Huh," Jersey stroked her chin. She'd need to keep a tighter leash on those three from now on. "Well…that's a problem for after I beat your scrawny ass into scrap."

"That's what you're going with?"

"Oh…" Jersey put on a predatory smile. "Oh… _Ohhhhhh_ Naka, do you know how much I fucking despise you? If I was in a room with you, Hitler, Tojo, and a gun with two bullets –"

"You'd shoot me twice?" Naka rolled her eyes. "I've seen _The Office_ too. Two-outta-ten, you tried."

"What?" Jersey screwed up her face. "No, I'd shoot Hitler and Tojo, those assholes are fucking shit-birds."

"Oh?" Naka cocked her head, intrigued by the sudden swerve the battleship's rant had taken.

"But when I'm _done_ ," said Jersey, "I'd shove the still-hot barrel up your shaft gallery until your meat curtains turn to bacon."

"Ooh!" Naka winced at the thought. Curse her vivid and highly marketable imagination. "Ooh! That's… _really clever_."

"C'mon!" Jersey smiled. "You're my friend, I'm not gonna half-ass my insults."

"How long were you sitting on that one?"

"Since before Woody, actually," said Jersey. "Just couldn't find a time to use it."

"It's really good," said Naka. "That imagery…" she closed her eyes and made a circle with her thumb and finger. "On point."

"I learned from the best," said Jersey.

"Aww…" Naka clapped her hands to her heart.

"Not you," said Jersey. "Some Greek tripfag on the internet."

"Oh." The cruiser's shoulders slumped.

"Now go back to your…Nipponese vid-shit, I got destroyers to scream at."

"Nyan~ problem!" Naka giggled and tossed a little baggie at the battleship.

Jersey caught the baggie as it bounced off her chest and scowled. "Naka, this is fucking oregano."

"Best I could do on short notice."

The battleship responded by flipping off Naka, but in a friendly way.

Sarah Gale didn't know why she thought taking a pregnancy test was a good idea. After all, even if Vestal _was_ right, that still made her a woman who'd been impregnated by another woman. Except said other woman was actually a thirty-five thousand ton battleship that was scrapped half a century ago who was somehow carrying her child. Why she expected a garden-variety drug store pregnancy test to handle that impossible situation without being dragged off to a very tiny padded cell while mumbling half-formed paradoxes was beyond the tired sailor.

She also didn't know why – after her first try resulted not in a comforting one line or two, but a tiny scrawled message reading 'oh God, why?' – she decided to press on and try another brand. And another. And another. And then those inexplicably unmarked ones that Kirishima had on hand, but refused to explain where she got them from. Gale had gotten a plethora of responses, from 'gurl, you cray' to a very tiny picture of an elderly woman in a bright blue shirt staring with a bewildered expression. And those were among the most _helpful_ of the various responses Gale had gotten, things got progressively worse from there.

Gale had even tried going to Vestal. God knew why; the poor girl knew less about…being a girl than even Gale did. She'd even had to scribble over some of the pictures in her textbook with sharpie just so she could read it, apparently there were some…rather graphic depictions of childbirth that made the old coal-burner queasy. Besides, Vestal didn't have any hydrophones, so she couldn't have helped even if she wanted to.

Luckily, Gale happened to know someone who _did_ have hydrophones. Unluckily, she was Sarah Gale and even her lucky days somehow managed to screw her over. Wash was on coastal patrol – the closest thing to light duty a pregnant battleship could receive – with her escort at the moment, and Tenryu's kids were ranging even further afield. That left only one destroyer on base Gale was even remotely comfortable poking around her middle.

Which is why she was sitting on the edge of a bed that hadn't been made in months, stripped to the waist with her pants unbuttoned while Borie squished her face against the bottom part of her belly. At least the little destroyer was wearing _some_ form of clothing. But like all boons in the poor sailor's life, even that found a way to screw her over.

When Borie heard she was going to be providing medical advice, the little shit wasted no time finding a lab coat. Unfortunately, they don't _make_ lab coats in subminiature-clothes-adverse-destroyer size, so she'd had to get creative with folding and rolling. And as far as Gale could tell, it was the _only_ thing the little destroyer was wearing.

"Dammit, Borie!" Gale scowled at the little destroyer squishing against her pelvis. She could always tell when a Kanmusu was touching her, their skin was always a little cool. It was like touching brushed steel on a brisk day. Gale _loved_ the tingly cool sensation when Wash kissed her down there…much less so when Borie was the one doing the touching.

"Shush!" Borie managed to somehow hiss in a German accent as thick was it was horrible. "Zeh Doktor isz Verking!"

"No you're not!" Said Gale. "You've just been lying there!"

"Doing zeh research!"

"You were _snoring_ twenty minutes ago!"

Borie blinked. "Um…" Her accent vanished as her little destroyer brain scrambled to think of an alibi. "W…would you believe…um…active sonar?"

Gale sighed. At this point, she'd lost all grasp on reality and she honestly _would_ have taken the little destroyer's excuse at face value if she'd just _sold_ it better. "C'mon, Borie. Am I pregnant or not?"

"I think so," said the destroyer.

Gale's heart caught in her throat. Even if she could find the words to express what she was feeling…she could barely breath, let alone speak.

"You're really comfy," continued Borie. She tried to thrust a finger to make a point, but only succeeded in whipping herself in the face with her oversized sleeve. "And when I hug you I want to nap."

"W…wait," Gale's euphoria came crashing down as reality suddenly reasserted itself. Or…as much of reality was could exist when talking to a half-naked, century old destroyer in the form of a pre-teen. "I…is that _all_ you're going off?"

"It's the most relevant evidence," said Borie. "To me."

"Borie," Gale scowled and pulled her T-shirt back on. "I'm going to count to three –"

"Four," said Borie.

"What?"

"Four."

"Borie!" Gale huffed.

"Fouuuur," Borie smirked and held up four fingers.

Slowly, Gale's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. "W-wait," her voice was the palest shadow of its former self. "B-Borie…are you saying that…" her mouth was suddenly dry as bone. "I'm having…quadruplets?"

"Is that what you call four babies?" asked Borie.

Gale nodded, idly clutching at her slim, trim middle. Four babies…she knew what they said about American shipbuilding efficiency, but _four_! Plus however many Wash was carrying! She was starting to feel very faint indeed. "Yeah."

"Oh, then no."

Gale froze. A moment later, she glared daggers at the little destroyer. "Borie, the fuck?"

"I'm a destroyer!" Borie roared with as much volume as her little lungs could supply. "I kill subs with knives! I do not know how to doctor!"

"But…"

"Do you want to see my medical licences?" Borie shoved a scrap of construction paper covered in little crayon scribbles.

"Borie," Gale tuned over the 'license'. "This just says 'I smart'."

"Mmm," Borie hopped onto the bed next to Gale and smiled. "You had a medical problem and you came to _me_. I _am_ the smart one here."

Gale scowled, but couldn't say anything in return. After all…the little naked shit had a _point._ Instead, the sailor silently collected her uniform, tugged it straight in a futile attempt to recapture some of her dignity, and strode out the door with her chin held high. But because her luck hadn't changed from its miserably non-existent state, the moment Gale left the destroyer dorms and before she could come up with any alibi, she ran into her friend from her NCO days.

"'Ay…Gale…" Yeoman Bowers panted with her hands on her sweat-slick knees. Bowers' PT uniform was drenched in sweat, even in the brisk Washington weather, and her short ponytail was unraveling into a slick rat-tail of brown down her neck.

"Jen, you look like hell," Gale chuckled to herself, thinking back to her old days of trying to somehow match Wash's impossible figure.

"'know," Bowers closed her eyes and wiped a waterfall of sweat off her brow. "I hate running!"

"Then why…"

"Williams gave me…new orders." Bowers gulped down water with shaking hands, spilling some of it on her already-soaking shirt. "New orders."

"You have a _job_ now?" Gale smiled. Among the yeomen, Bowers' reputation for skating was mythic. She was pretty sure she'd never actually seen her friend do _anything._ "What's that got to do with running?"

"Yeoman," gasped Bowers. "For…Commander Jersey."

"Oh!" Gale winced. Wash might be a goddess in human form, but at least her figure was somewhat attainable. Jersey… _that_ woman would send a Greek goddess crying to the gym.

"What're you doing?" Bowers forced herself to keep moving, even if it was just a lazy stroll now that her legs had turned to jelly.

For a moment, Gale contemplated lying. But then she decided the truth might be some much-needed brightness in her friend's day. "Uh…talking to Borie. 'think I might be pregnant."

"Why?" Bowers squinted at Gale.

"Well…" Gale blushed. "Wash and I, we –"

"No," Bowers shook her head. "Why _Borie_? There's a real OB/GYN *literally eight-hundred yards that way."

Gale gulped. In retrospect, that _would_ have been the smart move. "Ummmmmmmmmmmm…"

—|—|—

New Jersey stalked down the row of assembled destroyers with a dour look on her face. Four destroyers who'd consumed their own body weight in sugar products did their darnedest to stand at full military attention. Three of them were her Taffies, the fourth was Shimakaze. Apparently, the ill-clothed super-destroyer tagged along because she, quote "had nothing better to do, Ou!" unquote.

"Shima, why are you _still_ here?" Jersey gave the lithe girl in her submicron skirt a sideways look.

Shimakaze shrugged.

"You're not even in my chain of command," Jersey couldn't believe it, but she was actually feeling a shred of deep revulsion boiling away deep in her propulsion plant. Was this what Arizona felt like all the time? Is this what it was like to be… _crotchety_? "I couldn't yell at you if I wanted to."

Shimakaze shrugged again. "I'm bored."

"Well, get out of here!" barked Jersey.

"Can I watch?"

"Can you _watch?_ " Jersey scowled with a voice somewhere between confusion and anger.

Shimakaze nodded with an innocence unbecoming of a girl who most strippers would consider obscenely lewd – though probably out of self-serving business reasons rather than moral uprightness. "My Netflix is out."

"Oh," Jersey's voice snapped back to its usual half-asleep half-bored register. "Yeah, go for it."

"Arigato~" Shimakaze shuffled off to find a nice corner to watch from.

"Anyways," Jersey pivoted on her sneaker to glare down at her three destroyers. "I've given you little shits a hell of a lot of slack, and you all know goddamn why."

The three Fletchers were silent, but a look of solemn understanding passed over their small faces.

"But today isn't my day, it's Mutsu's, understood?"

"Aye, Commander!" barked Hoel.

"This goes for all of you," said Jersey. "This day will be _perfect for her_. If there are antics or fuckups, _you_ will not be the source."

The destroyers nodded solemnly.

"And if you set one fucking toe past the line," said Jersey. The battleship was barking at her own girls, but she would be the first to admit her tirade was directed at least partially back at her. "So help me God, I will make you gnaw it off and eat it."

"Oh! Good one!" Shimakaze applauded.

Jersey glanced off at nothing in particular. "The _fuck_ is with this base?"

—|—|—

Uploader's Note: *Obstetrics and gynaecology* for those of you who don't know Doc stuff


	8. Chapter 8: In the name of SECNAV

Oyodo had just finished her morning coffee. Admiral Goto knew this because he could feel the vibrations through the floor. How exactly she could function with that little blood in her coffee was beyond him. Even at his side of the office, the vibrations were so intense he could barely read his email. He couldn't say he blamed her. Every ship in the Japanese Self-Defense Force – plus half the Royal Navy, a good chunk of the United States Navy, and _all_ of the Regina Marina – had requested to attend.

Balancing that many ships without compromising defense was a task beyond any mere mortal. Goto was honestly surprised Oyodo hadn't vetoed the transfer requests. He wouldn't have blamed her if she did; the poor girl already ran twenty-four hours a day. But if she gave that easily, she just wouldn't be Oyodo. The cruiser had somehow found a few more hours in the day to balance out deployment schedules and intimidated reality into letting her plan work.

Goto smiled at the frantically-vibrating cruiser. He might be fighting this war, but she was winning it. Which reminded him…there was a call he had to make. A call he'd been putting off for far too long. And now that he could barely see his own computer, it was the perfect time.

"Gonna get some air," he said to Oyodo. "Need anything?"

The cruiser's only response was to thrust one of her sixty-four-ounce coffee mugs in his direction and grunt. Goto smiled, and gave her head a gentle caress. She didn't say anything, but she seemed to enjoy it. Her spread sheeting took on a slightly more relaxed tempo for a second or two.

Goto excused himself and found a secluded awning near one of the bulling doors. He was pretty sure everyone on the base knew what he was going to say, but he still wanted some sense of prosperity. He tucked Oyodo's massive mug under his arm and dialed his phone.

 _"It's Kongo DESS~"_ Kongo's cheery voice bounced through the tinny speaker. _"Who is this, Dess?"_

"You still haven't figured out call-recognition?"

 _"Teitoku!"_ Kongou almost blew out his eardrum. _"No, I haven't. That way…every time I get a call…I can pretend it's you, Dess! At least for a while, Dess…"_ her voice trailed off.

Goto smiled. Kongo was crazier than a whole forest of frogs. But she'd always made him smile on the darkest days. Part of him thought she was doing it for just that reason. "Kongo, about the wedding…I understand you gave up your dibs."

 _"Of course I did!"_ said Kongo. _"If you saw how Mutsu and her Admiral look at each other…I don't know why I ever claimed dibs in the first place, Dess!"_ Her voice faltered for a moment. _"The love…the love of an Admiral and his battleship is too pure to get between, Dess."_

"I know," said Goto. "Kongo…I love you and you know it."

Kongo giggled, and he could just picture her curling her skirt around her little finger. _"I know, Dess."_

"And if it were just you and me," said Goto, "I'd bend you over a desk until you couldn't keep a steady course if your life depended on it."

Kongo hummed a wordless sigh of bliss.

"But…" Goto tugged at is collar, trying to force the mental image of marital bliss with Kongo from his mind. "But your life _does_ depend on it. Millions do."

 _"I know,"_ said Kongo with a sad sigh.

"If it was just you and me…" Goto sighed. " _When_ it's just you and me…"

 _"Babies, Dess."_ Said Kongo. There was no arguing with her.

Goto smiled. "Babies. And a ring."

—|—|—

Arizona gazed down the battered runway at a figure who was pacing back and forth without any sign of stopping.

That figure was her elder sister. Her tormented, hateful, and sometimes painfully awkward sister.

And she had been trying for days to find the right moment to speak with her.

At Commander New Jersey's urging, she had sought out Pennsylvania and finally broke the ice. She didn't really consider the near disaster with Yamashiro to have really counted and the sinking of the Nazi Abyssals was more of a shared moment of kinship than really taking down the wall between them. But it had felt nice to have that moment regardless.

However whatever powers that be were obviously conspiring against her. If it wasn't one interruption, it was another. To make it worse, those were liberally doused with distractions that only furthered her irritation. She would have found the whole thing comical if what she was intending to do wasn't so serious. Oh, she'd look back on this and get a good chuckle or two out of it. But definitely not right now.

Now with their time left on the island growing short, Arizona had dotted every 'i', crossed every 't', and made it quite clear that she was not to be interrupted unless an Abyssal task force made the ill-advised decision to attempt retaking the island. Or some other equivalent disaster. She refused to leave this place without having done something to well and truly bridge the gap between herself and Pennsylvania. For better or worse, she would demolish that wall. With a sledgehammer if need be.

With purposeful strides, Arizona strode towards her pacing sister. Pennsylvania didn't seem to acknowledge her approach. Or if she did, then there was nothing to show for it. Just the repetitive orbits around some invisible point on the cracked concrete.

"Pennsy," called out Arizona as she came to a halt only a few steps from Pennsylvania. However only the sounds of the island and the heavy footfalls of her sister answered her.

She allowed a few moments to pass before addressing the other redhead again to no avail.

And a third time.

"Oh, that does it. Pennsylvania!" Arizona raised her hands to the sides of her mouth and hollered at her sister, her impressive set of lungs producing such a volume that she wouldn't be surprised if half the island heard her.

Her frown turned into a small grin when Pennsylvania jumped in shock and let out a startled yelp. Not one of genuine fright. Instead it was something closer to having an ice cube put down the back of one's shirt. It was actually kind of funny to see such a reaction coming from her elder sister.

She almost decided that laughing would be worth the extra ire it would cause. Almost.

"Wha?!" Pennsylvania whirled around, a hand clutched to her breast and an angry glare in her crimson eyes. "Missy! Don't you _dare_ do that again. We're on watch!"

Arizona blinked as confusion took over her expression. Missy? Pennsy had never called her that. Not once. She'd never even hinted at calling her anything other than some manipulation of her name.

Before she could comment, Pennsylvania closed the distance and placed a finger rather roughly against her sternum. There was something off about her eyes, too. They were still their bright, unyielding red. But something wasn't there anymore. Not a spark of anger or anything. They were just…blank.

"Do you want the Japs to sneak up on us? Because screwing around is exactly what'll let them do it. One second. One damn second is all they need to line up a good shot. Shell. Torpedo. A bomb. It doesn't matter!" Pennsylvania leaned in further and snarled. "I don't care whether you're fresh off the slip or Constitution herself. You will not be anything other than absolutely diligent every moment of every day!"

Arizona raised her hands to push Pennsylvania back, but found herself having to take a step back for balance as her sister pushed herself closer.

"Got it, Mississippi?"

Arizona felt a chill go down her spine. She knew she looked a lot like a New Mexico-class battleship. And a slew of others as well. That was part and parcel of being part of a standardized design.

But never could she have imagined that her own sister would mistake her for someone else. They were nearly identical to each other!

"I said, got it?" Pennsylvania drove her index finger against Arizona's chest again and pulled her out of the momentary shock.

"I'm not Mississippi. I –"

"…Tennessee?" Pennsylvania paused, cutting off Arizona with a look of confusion. She blinked a few times and squinted as if that would help identify who she was berating. "Or Cali – no. You _have_ to be Mississippi. Now stop screwing around and keep your eye peeled."

"It's Arizona, Pennsy!" Arizona reached out and grasped Pennsylvania's shoulders firmly. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She was the only other Standard here, much less in the world at the moment so far as she knew. Panic began to set in as her voice raised. "Me! Ari! We're on Woody Island. We helped take the islands back from the Abyssal Fleet. Don't you remember?"

"If you're joking, I'm not laughing." Pennsylvania shoved Arizona back violently. "I'm not laughing, goddammit!"

"Ari died. That lucky bitch _died_. She just had to crack one eye open to see the bomb that killed her! I had to wipe the blood of destroyers off my face and live! Don't you dare claim to be her. You scar-faced harlot!"

Pennsylvania came to a sudden halt while Arizona felt her blood boil. Lucky? Being blown up in your sleep and having to listen to the screams of your dying crew while you burned and bled out was lucky!? Was Pennsylvania completely insane?

"Do –"

"Who…are you?"

Arizona's throat tightened, choking off her fiery accusation. Between the confusion and the far off look in her sister's eyes, she was certain the question was genuine. But how to answer? Would Pennsy go off the rails again? Would she accept it? She felt paralyzed in a way she'd never felt before. And the inaction burned at her conscience.

"You've got cage masts and guns like I do." She chuckled and smiled slightly, extending a hand. The sharp shift in demeanor nearly broke Arizona's heart while her mind struggled to keep up with what was unfolding. "Well, whatever. I bet you're a standard too. Only makes sense. Pennsylvania. Hull number thirty-eight."

Try again. She'd try again. She had to try…

"Is something wrong?"

"…Arizona. My name is Arizona. Hull number thirty-nine." Slowly, she raised her hand to grasp Pennsylvania's. Her heart thundered in her chest and her boilers felt like they would blow at the drop of a hat. Please. She prayed for her sister to take her hand. Or to wake up. Or anything that would return the sight to her eyes.

Even if it was hate, paranoia, and vitriolic fury, it would be a welcome sight compared to the sister chained down in memories and delusions.

Arizona began to sweat as the clock ticked onward without any real change in Pennsylvania's expression. She just stood there, unblinking and motionless like a wax statue. Only the faint sound of breathing gave any indication there was still life in the woman before her.

"Pennsy?"

Finally, Pennsylvania blinked. An irritable gaze and a frown replaced the empty eyes and slight smile.

"Ari, what in the devil are you doing?"

"Huh?"

"I asked what you're doing." Pennsylvania didn't release Arizona's hand, but she made no indication of finding the contact pleasant or desired. "You don't show up out of the blue to shake someone's hand for no reason. Why are you even shaking my hand in the first place?"

"You don't remember?" Obviously not. But she couldn't help the reflex to ask anyways. "You didn't recognize me at all. You kept calling me Mississippi. And for a moment it was Tennessee and California. Yelling at me about being vigilant and to not goof off while on duty."

The lack of recognition and disbelief in Pennsylvania's eyes tied a knot in her stomach. More so when she considered the hateful tirade that had been inflicted upon her.

"You didn't get hit in the bridge when we were taking on those Nazis, did you? They shouldn't have even scratched your paint much less concussed you. Was it the air raid?" Pennsylvania released her grip and crossed her arms, the shells in her pockets jingling with the movements. A sliver of concern appeared in her eyes, but Arizona wasn't sure if it was real or some illusion borne of desperation.

"N-no. It wasn't either. The raid…was admittedly terrifying. I thought that destroyer had blown up when it launched those missiles. But –" She shook her head, willing away the horrors that existed only in the fearful corners of her mind. They had all survived. Survived and bled the assault dry. She wouldn't let her nightmares twist that memory. She couldn't. An irritable sigh escaped her. "I'm not concussed and I haven't been hit in the bridge, for that matter."

"You're certainly acting like it though. Go ta –"

"No!" Arizona cut her sister off with a shout. Her hands balled into fists and her eyes gleamed with flecks of gold. "I know what I heard and I know what I saw!"

"You were looking right through me! Talking to me like I was someone else. A–and then you said I –" She cut herself off with an angry shake of her head. Dammit all. Damn it! Why was this happening? "Then you started acting all friendly, like I was fresh off the slip. Like you'd never met me!"

Pennsylvania reached out and grasped Arizona's collar, freezing her in place. From hot to cold and back and forth. A rapidly-developing exhaustion was taking its toll on her and making every second of her emotional roller coaster worse. She didn't want to break. She didn't want to. Not in front of her sister.

"Ari…what. What did I say?" There was an intensity in Pennsylvania's eyes that she had never seen before. A look that held her at bay and would not allow her to avert her gaze.

"That…" She swallowed heavily. "That I was lucky. All I had to do was die. I died while you lived."

"You lie."

"I'm not lying!" A choked sob punched through her confused and frustrated anger. Pennsylvania's grip tightened and began to tear the fabric of her clothes. "I'm not."

Worry and fear began to seep into the edges of Pennsylvania's expression. It was almost alien in how ill-suited it looked on her. Slowly her grip lessened. Long moments passed before her hand released Arizona's shirt, falling to her side.

"I'd never…I'd never say that!"

"But you did. You made it sound like I had died just yesterday!" Arizona advanced on Pennsylvania, placing gloved hands on her sister's shoulders. Her grip was more than just firm. She was rapidly growing genuinely terrified and her hands camped down with enough force to make Pennsylvania wince. "I'm right here, Pennsy. Right here!"

"Ari, that hu –"

"I'm alive. I've been sailing and fighting and…and living! Living for months now. I've fought monsters. I've sparred against powerful, skilled warships. I've eaten donuts for breakfast and yelled at people for dressing inappropriately. There's a little girl who calls me mother and tries to fight off my nightmares. I nearly lost my best friend to a demon and I raged when I couldn't take vengeance!" She couldn't stop. She was breaking. Breaking and she didn't know what to do. "I'm _alive_ , Pennsy…"

"But whenever I close my eyes, you're not." Arizona stiffened at the admission. It had been delivered so matter-of-factly that it drove a spike into her heart. A spike that twisted when Pennsylvania continued in a detached, empty voice. "I smell the smoke. I feel the heat. I hear the planes and the screams. You die every single time and there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

"I'm here, though. I'm here now." She was shaking. She, a battleship, was shaking like a child. There was no shred of her usual dignity and poise left. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

"You weren't there then. You were a burned out hulk sitting at the bottom of the harbor while I had to survive." Pennsylvania raised a hand and clawed at her own face in open frustration. Her other tried and failed to remove Arizona's vice-like grip. "I had to live with that nightmare! You got to die with your failure. I had to _live_ with mine!"

"They couldn't save you. There wasn't enough left. A lost cause. You just lay there, peacefully rotting while they stripped you for parts. Parts I saw everywhere. Reminding me. Mocking me. My little Ari was dead and gone." A hateful snarl hissed past her lips. "And so many more. Men. Ships. All…gone. They killed them all."

"Is there anything? A–Any meaning in me being here?" Arizona's arms were losing their strength. It was hard enough keeping something that resembled a straight face. And she wasn't even sure she was managing that. "What if it was Cassin? Downes? Utah? Anyone else but me standing here? Would it even matter?"

Pennsylvania remained deathly silent.

Arizona's arms fell limply to her sides.

Seconds dragged into minutes.

Arizona's grey eyes never left Pennsylvania's crimson, her vision tunneling. She couldn't bear to look away. Not with this silence reigning.

She'd wanted so desperately to connect with her sister. Someone so changed by the war that she barely recognized her anymore. She didn't know how to talk to someone like this. Dammit, she wanted to try, though!

This was a second chance. You were never supposed to have a second chance. Ever!

And she was failing spectacularly.

"I don't know."

Arizona staggered back as if she'd been struck.

A pain far worse than anything she'd ever felt coursed through her as she felt her staked heart break.

It wasn't even a pain she could understand. Her hull wasn't torn asunder and her decks weren't aflame. She hadn't suffered a single scratch and still it hurt so much more.

Her chest tightened and she felt herself choke.

"I don't know, dammit!" Pennsylvania shouted in naked fury.

An anguished expression overtook her.

"You're just like that damn cruiser. Like your dear admiral! Prying and stabbing and confusing!" She grasped her head and shook violently. "You all say things so easily. So casually. But I don't know! I don't know how to stop seeing that explosion or how to tune out the yelling. I don't know!"

She glared at Arizona and raised her fist as if she intended to use it. But it fell after an agonized roar escaped her lips.

"I can't stop hating them. I can't stop…being what I am! I don't know how to change. Can I? Do I even want to?!" She fell to her knees and slammed that same fist she'd nearly loosed at Arizona onto the ground. The concrete shattered like glass. "Make snacks for everyone. Don't shoot them in the back. Ignore them. Play nice. Cease-fire agreements. Don't see murderers and corpses around every corner! Try all these things!"

Pennsylvania shook her head again, never looking up.

"I…don't. I can't… Won't. Ari…I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry..."

With a cry, Arizona fell upon her sister and embraced her. She nearly had the breath knocked from her lungs when Pennsylvania returned the embrace with what had to be every bit of force she could muster. Steel groaned and bulkheads threatened to give, but she wouldn't dare release her sister. And she had a feeling her sister wouldn't dare let go of her either.

Not now.

She wanted to say something. But she didn't know what. She didn't even know if she could.

Pennsylvania shuddered and she decided it would be far worse to say nothing at all.

"…It's o –" Arizona stopped and took a deep, labored breath.

"I'm here, Pennsy." Her voice heavy, she finally spoke.

"I'm here…"

—|—|—

Now that she was finally starting to show, battleship Mutsu could barely take three steps without someone accosting her. Naval officers – both American and Japanese – would stop her to offer polite thanks. A few of the older female officers would slip her a few words of advice on the sly, which Mutsu heartily appreciated. She was overjoyed to be a mother, but she was the first to admit she was steaming into uncharted waters.

No…that analogy didn't work at all. Mutsu was a battleship, she was _supposed_ to be steaming the waves. And even in uncharted waters, she knew what dangers she _might_ face. Even if she didn't know exactly where the shallows were, she knew to keep her speed low, and she knew what to do should she accidentally ground herself. But being a mother? Mutsu barely knew how to be a woman! For all her teasing, she'd been very much the apprentice on that night of passion with John – although she _was_ practicing every chance she could steal. According to her fiancée, she was getting quite good.

But that was neither here nor there. Mutsu was getting swamped with attention. As the only pregnant kanmusu on the Japanese side of the Pacific, and the first pregnant Kanmusu period, she was an emblem to all her fellow ship-spirits. If she could be a mother, maybe one day they could be too!

Jane had been the first to notice, which made Mutsu feel like her pregnancy was in very safe hands. The littlest Richardson – _or third littlest_ , Mutsu thought to herself, idly cradling her belly – had prepared a Power Point complete with helpful explanations in terms Mutsu could understand before the battleship even noticed she'd gained weight. There was even a heavily-cited graph plotting Mutsu's belly's 'hugabillity index' as a factor of time. Apparently, Mutsu would be ideal for cuddling between twenty-one and twenty-seven weeks.

Shimakaze, of all people, had been the next to notice. At least, according to the destroyer. Albie and Archie _claimed_ to have figured it out _weeks_ ago with their passive sonar, but hadn't bothered telling anyone because they both figured Mutsu already knew. The battleship didn't what to make of that, as she didn't have the faintest idea when the two little 'murder-hobos' as Jane called them, were lying. Regardless, once Shimakaze knew, the whole base knew.

The super-destroyer didn't have any sisters to naturally bond with, and had instead made friends with seemingly everyone on the base. And she was so fast with a Twitter account she melted cellphones with terrifying regularity. Mutsu had been reduced to buying Nokias in bulk.

By the time Mutsu made it to dinner, every destroyer on the base was lined up for a turn with her belly. The nicer ones actually asked permission, but none of them waited for a response before pressing their hydrophones against the battleship's creamy skin and taking a few giggling readings. One by one, they filed by. Each would snuggle Mutsu's middle and record…whatever two very small boats sounded like while under construction, then sadly relinquish her place and hand off her sonar report to Jane.

Mutsu, of course, didn't mind the attention at all. Her heavily-armored miniskirt and snug-fitting top always bared her middle, and she refused to go looking for maternity wear. She was a mother now, and she wanted absolutely everyone to know it!

That said, the battleship did occasional want some time to herself. There was only so much cuddling from destroyers and fawning from Kongo she could endure.

"Mu!" Her tiny doppelganger sat decisively in her cleavage, her tiny feet planted as firmly as the full-size battleship's soft breasts would allow, while her minute face gazed out with the solemn serenity one would expect of a battleship of grand admiral. Albeit…in much smaller and marshmallow-like form.

Mutsu giggled and settled onto her chair. Jane hadn't given her a very through explanation about _how_ the tiny thing came to be, but Mutsu didn't much care. Minimu was as adorable as she was useful.

"Go get my nippers," said Mutsu. Her miniature twin was useful for gathering her tools – once the pregnant battleship was comfortably at anchor on her workbench that had once been the dining room table, moving again was a chore – but Minimu had her limits. For one, anything involving superglue was best left to the full-size version. It had taken _hours_ of work, punctuated by increasingly annoyed "muuuuu"s of distress to get Minimu unstuck.

"Muu~" Minimu climbed out of her bigger version's bust-line and skittered over the table as fast as her stubby legs would carry her.

"Thank you," Mutsu smiled at her littler twin. "'Zona?"

"Zona!" The chubby simulacrum of the equally chubby American battlewagon Mutsu had grown happy to share her life with saluted with a stubby nub of a hand. Smolzona, as Jane had named her, had an irresistible sweet tooth that her larger twin kept solidly in check. But at least _she_ could be trusted with glue, unlike a certain someone.

"MU!" A noise of protest wafted from the toolbox Minimu was waist-deep into. If not for her plump shafts, the tiny thing would've toppled over into Mutsu's collection of needle files and sanding sticks already.

Mutsu smiled, and turned back to Smolzona. "Be a dear and get my glue."

"Zona?" The tiny redhead tilted her head inquisitively.

"Just Cement this time." Mutsu turned a seemingly innocuous box over in her gloved hands. It had taken her weeks to chase down a copy, and that was _after_ Albie and Archie worked overtime verifying its very existence.

Mutsu had known about models for a while. Almost a year ago, she and her sister had posed for box-art paintings for specially-branded 1/700th kits. She'd been given a good chunk of the line as thanks, but until a few weeks ago they'd just been gathering dust in the back of her room. But ever since that night with John, Mutsu found herself consumed with a craving to build.

One time, John came down the stairs at two in the morning to find her sitting in a newspaper-lined nest surrounded by three kits she was attempting to build simultaneously. He'd offered his assistance, but…something was more enticing than models.

Mutsu smiled at the salacious memory and tore cling-wrap from the unmarked box in her hand. Inside was a small, but exquisitely molded kit of her. Only it wasn't of her, it was a smaller, squished version of her. A Chibi-maru, as it were. Mutsu had been overjoyed when Jane explained the thing she so desperately craved actually existed! She'd built every ship the company had to offer – and given most of them as gifts to their subjects. But finding a kit of herself had been a trial and a half.

But now it was in her hands!

"Muuuuuuuu," Minimu purred with joy as Mutsu dumped the parts out on the table. The little thing held freshly-sharpened nippers over her head, and happily presented them to Mutsu proper.

"Zona." Smolzona nodded sagely.

"Thank you, 'zona." Mutsu scratched the little Standard's head, earning a very quiet purr of contentment. The two mini-warships busied themselves with organizing the sprues while Mutsu read over the instructions. After the Viper incident that shall not be discussed, Mutsu had learned the value of reading the instructions thoroughly before gluing anything.

"Mu?" Minimu lofted a can of primer heartily bigger than she was above her tiny head.

"Not yet." Mutsu pursed her lips and smiled. Her radar was twitching, and she could _feel_ him sneaking up on her, but she decided to play dumb. A few moments later, she felt a warm breath on her neck and heard the rustle of uniform wool.

"Evening, Mutsu." John's voice was like honey in her ear as he leaned in for kiss against her creamy cheek. His hands ducked under hers, cradling the soft skin of her plump belly with a gentle caress. "Am I ever going to get my table back?"

Mutsu giggled and laced her fingers with his. "You didn't know how to cook anyways."

Her Admiral shrugged and rested his chin against her shoulder. "I _might_ learn."

Mutsu scoffed and slumped back in her chair and let her fiancee embrace her. "John?"

"Mmm?" Her Admiral held her tight, idly stroking the soft skin of her middle. Mutsu could feel her twins humming with glee at his every touch.

"I haven't seen Jane all week," said the battleship.

Her Admiral laughed. "She's thrown herself into planning the wedding," he said. "Got herself another dozen notebooks just for the occasion. Even got Albie to return a few glitter pens."

"My God, she _is_ serious!" Mutsu laughed and let her eyes flutter shut. She loved her models – as one could glean from the boxes covering every flat surface the pregnant battle wagon could reach without having to pull up her anchor. "Where is she now?"

"Cake tasting," said Her Admiral. "Brought the Duckies with her too."

"Of course she did," sighed Mutsu.

"Shouldn't be back for hours~" said Her Admiral with a teasing lilt to his voice. Mmm, she'd taught him well.

Mutsu grinned. As much as she craved her models…there was one thing she craved even more.

—|—|—

Battlecruiser Saratoga idly sucked on the tip of her pen and tried to keep her focus on the meticulously-annotated notes she'd worked up. Back when she was little, she'd tease the gunfighting ships for how 'easy' their job was. Just point the gun the right way and pull the trigger! Newton does practically all the work for you, after all!

Fighting as a carrier was a far more…elegant art. A ballet of hundreds of sailors working together to spin a masterwork of steel and aluminum. Just spotting a strike was an orchestra of the finest order, and the work didn't stop when the planes left her deck. She had to manage fuel reserves, coordinate scout, torpedo, and fighter planes with wildly different performance characteristics so everyone arrived where he needed to be when he needed to be. And then, unlike the lumbering battleships, she had to recover her lofted weapons and ready them for yet another strike.

Compared to all that, surely gun fighting was a simpler ordeal. Ranges had increased over the years of course, but…Admiral Nelson or Captain Jones could look at a battleship and see naught but a logical progression from that which he knew. Battleships were evolutionary, where carriers were _revolutionary._

Sara didn't think that way anymore. Texas set her straight in the sweetly chiding way only a century-old belle of a battlewagon could. Sara thought she learned all there was to know about gunnery when she had her eight-fifty-fives mounted, but true battleship-caliber guns were leagues ahead of anything she knew. Coriolis force, wind, air pressure, powder temperature…those were just _some_ of the factors she needed to know forwards and backwards if she wanted her shells to hit where she was aiming at. And that was _before_ the complex predictive equations needed to figure out _where she should aim at._

The battlecruiser slumped over her mountains of handwritten notes with a sigh. With her bountiful bosom squished against her desk, she could just barely feel the soft clockwork hum of her Mark 1 gunnery computer tick against her breast. It was state of the art, she knew that. She'd watched 'laska shoot skeet with a handgun while blindfolded – apparently because she was bored and it was 'too sunny to nap.'

Sara _knew_ she was capable of that, but every time she drew a bead her shots jerked wide. It was incredibly frustrating. Sara _knew_ she could, but she just couldn't suppress her old carrier instincts. Every time she pulled the trigger she flinched at the thunderous report of her long sixteens. As a carrier, hearing that kind of firepower go off so close meant she was in _deep_ trouble.

"'cuse me?" A very quiet voice wafted through the door to Sara's room.

"'laska?" Sara picked herself up and straightened her notes as best she could. She was sure she looked thoroughly worked-over, but there wasn't time to change that now.

"Mmm," the large cruiser's voice was less quiet now, but only by a little bit. Sara had to chuckle at the young girl's timidity. Alaska had less than three years of life under her belt, but despite her youth and classification, she'd mastered the delicate art of being a battlecruiser far more easily than Sara. By all rights, Alaska should be leading a doting Saratoga around and teaching her the ropes.

But for some reason, Sara couldn't resist the instinctual desire to treat the little cruiser as her own daughter, and Alaska fell effortlessly into the role of an eager young daughter. If Sara didn't already long for children of her own, Alaska's gentle doting would've have easily pushed her into that camp.

"Sweetie," Sara smoothed her terribly short skirt as she stood. She'd teased Texas for being flustered by her own tremendous stack, and once again the tables had been turned on her. "Would you like to come in?"

"Mmm-hmm!" Alaska replied in the affirmative, but the door stood totally unmoved.

Sara chuckled to herself. "The door's unlocked, sweetie."

"Ah." The door swung open to reveal a large cruiser inexpressibly pleased with herself. "Miss Sara." Alaska smiled, and without further ceremony closed in for a hug.

"'Laska." Sara ruffled the girl's snowy hair while Alaska buried her chilly nose deep between the battlecruiser's soft breasts. Alaska didn't have much in the way of understanding of personal space, but that was just as well. Sara happened to quite like when her stacks were used as pillows by people she loved. It kindled the maternal spark glowing deep in her boilers. "What can I do for you?"

"This is fine." Alaska rested her chin against Sara's chest and hugged the taller warship contentedly. Her voice was as even and contentedly bewildered as usual, but her eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

"Sweetie," Sara gently shifted the large cruiser to her lap and settled onto the side of her bed. "Are you okay, you look like you've seen a ghost!"

"I…" Alaska trailed off. "Um…Atago and I watched the convoy come in this morning."

"Oh?" Sara caught herself running her fingers through Alaska's shimmering white hair, then decided to continue anyways.

Alaska nodded. "Maya was flag – Atago's sister you know?"

Sara nodded. "Third of her class, yes?"

Alaska nodded. "'s spooky. She's _nothing_ like Atago."

Sara laughed. "So spooky you had to tell me?"

"Well…" the cruiser shrugged. "Actually…Maya's only in town for a day. Her convoy's heading for Japan tomorrow. So Atago's spending the day with her." Alaska took in a breath and gathered her thoughts. Also, she tried to keep herself awake. There was just something about sitting on Sara's lap with her head on the busty battlecruiser's stack listening to the hum of turbo-generators while having her hair played with that made Alaska feel utterly content. "And, um…Mondays are our usual sunbeam days."

"Sunbeam days?" Sara couldn't resist darting in for a quick pinch of Alaska's inexplicably chubby cheek.

Alaska nodded. "We find a nice warm sunbeam and take a nap in it. Cameron comes too, sometimes. It's really nice."

Sara smiled, her mind drifting to fantasies of napping in the sun with a certain other man she was rapidly falling in love with. Possibly even with clothing. "It sounds splendid."

Alaska giggled. "Miss Sara, nobody says 'splendid' anymore."

Sara just rolled her eyes.

"Anyways, um…" the cruiser coughed. "Normally I snuggle 'tago, but she's busy. So…maybe…"

Sara glanced at her pile of notes, then at the cruiser struggling not to nap on her bosom. "Sweetie, I'd be happy to join you."

Alaska threw her arms around the battlecruiser. "Thank you! Oh, ByTheWayIInvitedMisterStewart."

Sara narrowed her sea-gray eyes. "Did you now."

Alaska just grinned like a kitten.

—|—|—

"Hey, Doc." Jersey smiled into the laptop balanced precariously on her well-muscled belly. It felt like months since she'd seen the man who for all intents and purposes had been her guide through the treacherous waters of being a girl. She still wasn't quite certain how she felt about Crowning, but she didn't have the slightest reservation about letting him see her otherwise-embarrassing new hair tufts. Which…had to mean something, right?

 _"Jersey,"_ His scruffy visage cracked in a warm smile, the kind that made Jersey feel like she was drowning thick down comforters that'd just been pulled from the drier. The titanic battlewagon actually giggled for a moment. _"Good to see you again."_

"Good to see you too." Jersey adjusted the laptop to keep the hot fan exhaust from blowing right onto her belly. Her simple T-shirt didn't provide any protection, and the heat was a mild but persistent irritation to the battlewagon. "So…" She flashed a coy smile. "Notice anything?"

 _"Yudachi got into your hair?"_ Crowning chuckled.

"What?" Jersey made a show of pouting for the camera. "No, I mean…yes…but…" she angled the laptop to get a better angle of her newly-enlarged fuel bunkers. "Tiddy!"

 _"Nothing if not consistent,"_ said Crowning. Although Jersey noticed he only gave her chest the briefest of glances. He was empirically confirming her statement, not leering at her impeccable American Engineering like she might like. _"How's the wedding prep?"_

"Oh," Jersey smirked to herself. "Jane's handling most of it. Little tyke'll end up bossing us all around before too long." She sighed. "Had to get fitted for dinner-dress though."

 _"Oh?"_ Crowning laughed. _"Something tells me that's more of an ordeal than you're letting on."_

"Like _hell_ it is!" Jersey snapped back. "You'd think the Navy Exchange would have uniforms, but _noooooo_." The battleship huffed. "Actually, they do, but every goddamn one was…like fucking three inches too short in the sleeve. I swear to God, I would've fucking shredded those things the first time I moved my goddamn arm –" Jersey flexed her bicep for effect – "if I could've fucking squeezed it in in the first place."

"And _then_ ," Jersey was just ramping up to her tirade. She had a vast supply of bottled up rage to let out, but something about Crowning made her _want_ to keep talking. Maybe it was because he was just a civilian, but Jersey felt like she could tell him anything. "And _then_ we went to a fucking tailor to get this shit custom-made. You'd think that'd work, right?"

 _"Actually no,"_ said Crowning with a good-natured smile. _"But for the sake of narrative structure, let's say yes."_

"Wrong!" Jersey rolled her eyes. "Forget that I'm fucking massive and every tailor we found needed a fucking extension-ladder just to reach my goddamn collar, not a single goddamn one of them knows the first fucking thing about tits!" Jersey cupped her girthy bosom, only to instantly regret it as darts of pain shot into her fleshly breast. "Fuck me!"

 _"Jersey?"_ Crowning tried to be compassionate, he really did. But despite all that a smirk was drifting onto his face.

"Must've had half the pin production of fucking Sasebo jammed into my tits," said the battleship. "They look like fucking shower heads, goddamn!"

Crowning chuckled, clearly at a loss for anything to say. A moment later, Jersey sighed too. She'd hoped her tirade would last longer, because as uncomfortable as her shopping trip had been, the silence was worse still. Of course, even silence was preferable to the serious conversation Jersey knew she should have, but… But she was a battleship. Going into dangerous waters is what she was built for. "So…you and Kirishima?"

 _"She's…not a bad writer,"_ said Crowning with a little sheepish hesitation.

"You um…" Jersey coughed. "Fuck her yet?"

Crowning was silent for almost a minute. _"Jersey, I promise you –"_

"'cause you should," said Jersey. It hurt to say, but at the same time it felt good. It was like…like getting her bottom scrubbed clean of fouling. Yeah, it was a very through scouring, but by the time it was all over her tender skin felt so much healthier. "Um…I know you like me…or at least you like the idea of me you've built up in your head." She sheepishly chewed on her lip. "I know because that's what I'm feeling right now."

Crowning was silent, but there was an understanding glint to his eyes, and he couldn't quite bring himself to meet the battleship's gaze.

"But," Jersey forced herself to continue. "Let's be real here. I'm not even fucking remotely close to emotionally healthy for a relationship. You are. And you deserve someone who'll make you happy and shit. And from what I hear, Kirishima's that girl."

 _"Jersey, I don't know what you've heard,"_ Crowning was careful now. Picking his words with great care as he charted a new course through the treacherous shores of a woman's shattered heart. _"But…Kirishima and I are just friends."_

"I know, Doc," said Jersey. "Haven't heard you do anything for her you wouldn't do for me…or hell, anyone. But…" The battleship sighed. "Hell, you'd do anything for us. You did for me. Put up with all my shit and I…I'm a fucking amazon who walks talk and thinks – _when_ she thinks – more with her stomach…or…other…organs…than anything approaching a brain. The fuck did we ever end up paired?"

 _"Can't say I know,"_ said Crowning with a chuckle.

"Kirishima's more your style, I think." The battleship shifted her laptop and scowled at nothing in particular. "Four eyed little twerp – no offense, just…she's on your fucking level – intellectually and shit. Me…"

Jersey trailed off with an introspective murmur. It took her a moment to gather her strength once more, but even then her voice was quieter and shakier than it had been. "You and I aren't in a relationship, we never were. I was using you as a crutch and you were fucking propping me up 'cause you're a better person than I'll ever be."

 _"Jersey –_ "

"Don't argue with me, Doc," said Jersey. "We both know it's true. You were too kind to say so and I was too much of a pussy to admit it. But that changes now." Jersey puffed out her chest with a stiff breath. "I'm a Commander now. I own up to my problems and failures and shit. And you…you deserve someone who makes you happy, not someone who…who you have to _make_ happy."

For a long time, the only sound to be heard was the gentle whirring of the laptop's fans and the chaotic murmur of Jane's wedding preparations.

 _"You're right,"_ said Crowning.

"Huh?"

 _"You're owning up to your failures,"_ said Crowning. _"But you don't have to face them alone. You keep away the demons, but if there's anything I can do to keep away your demons, anything at all…let me know."_

Jersey closed her eyes and smiled. All these months, and she finally had something that she hadn't even known she was searching for. Well…maybe Victory did, in that twisted half-remembered ghostly form of hers. Maybe this is what she kept pushing her towards, having someone she could…could be honest with. Let the mask of duty slide from her tired brow for just a moment.

"Sure is, mate." said a tiny Australian voice in the back of Jersey's mind.

"Go fuck yourself, cuntboat," said Jersey in the nicest possible way.

 _"Pardon?"_ Crowning chuckled.

"Not you," said Jersey. "I…" the battleship sighed. "If I said I had a small wooden man-o-war living inside my head, would you think I'm crazy?"

 _"No,"_ he said to the fifty-eight thousand ton battleship.

"Fuck you," Jersey laughed. "Hey…look…so…we're not together anymore. But for all the shit I put you through, I feel like I owe you something for it."

 _"Jersey, you don't-"_

"Shut up and let me finish." Jersey tilted the laptop to get a better view at her freshly-enlarged fuel tanks. "Refit filled out my rack."

 _"I can see that."_

"You ever wanna see my boobs," Jersey chuckled. "Just let me know. Actually…" she glanced over her shoulder, verifying what her radar and lookouts already told her. She was alone, save for the laptop on her tummy. "I could show you right now if you want."

 _"Maybe…maybe another time, Jersey."_

Jersey froze with both hands planted firmly on her chest. "You sure? I mean…I gotta be honest here, Akashi's engineers know their way around tiddy. They're fucking works of art!"

Crowning laughed. _"And I'm sure you're only offering out of selfless desire to see her work appreciated?"_

"Damn straight!" said Jersey without a touch of irony.

* * * * *

"Hai! Hai! Naka-chan desu~!"

Naka performed a quick twirl before smiling at the camera with a wink. Just the sort of thing to appeal to her multitude of fans. Oh, and of course to drive a few select individuals up the wall. Didn't they know fighting her idol powers only made her want to annoy them more?

"I'm coming to you live from the one and only United States Fleet Activities Sasebo!" She made a wide, sweeping gesture to the scenery of the base behind her to prompt her cameraman to follow. Which he did. But only after giving her the most beleaguered glare she'd seen in ages.

She waved for him to fall in line as she began making her way towards the entrance of the auditorium. It was easy enough to walk backwards and keep her attention on the camera, but she still took it a bit slow to be on the safe side.

"This is a special broadcast for all of you out there who wanted to be here, but couldn't. And don't worry. I'll have this up on my channel later for everyone." She grinned widely. "C'mon, let's get inside!"

The cameraman lowered his camera with a groan.

"Will the signal on this thing even reach?" He gestured to the array of wires, antennae, and devices strapped to his person. "It's not ev –"

"Hush, and trust in Naka, Minion."

"My name isn't Minion, it –"

"Less talking, more walking!" She whirled about, knowing he'd be right on her heels. "Come on. This is a first in history and we're here to witness it. Be more excited!"

"I'd be more excited if I didn't have to worry about braining a politician or the brass with this abomination you call a camera rig." He muttered.

Naka ignored his complaints and grabbed his wrist to haul him inside.

Outside was good and all. Plenty of maneuvering room and a nice view of the sea. But outside was where the action definitely wasn't.

They also didn't have a whole lot of time before everything kicked off. And much as she'd have liked to get a few pictures with some of the people making their ingress to the auditorium, dilly-dallying was out. She hoped she could catch a few of them at the reception. If not, then she would lament her poor timing and move on.

"Let's see…" Naka scanned the growing sea of individuals looking for their seat. _Oh, can't forget that!_ She turned to her cameraman and made a spinning motion with her finger. "Minion, get a good shot of this place. The whole thing. We'll have other things to pay attention soon enough and I don't want all this hard work to go to waste."

She'd never seen the auditorium decked out so beautifully. Not since…well, ever! Sure, she hadn't had much of a chance to see normally, but still. It was most impressive.

She tapped none too gently on her minion's shoulder to direct his attention toward the front where a row of flags had been set up in a semicircle. The Japanese and American flags took center stage, but flags for the armed forces stood next to them. It was a pretty good setup if she were to say so herself. Maybe not the most romantic, buuut…this was a wedding between an admiral and a battleship, after all. There wasn't really a norm set up for that kind of thing yet.

'Yet' being the keyword there.

It certainly wouldn't be this prim and proper for her wedding day though. No sirree. Too uptight.

"– aka. Hey, Naka."

"Hmm?" Naka snapped out of her musings to turn around and wound up with a face-full of camera. "Gah! Back up. Back up. Not so close."

"Not a whole lot of space here. Place is filling up fast and I think we're in the way." He thumbed over to the encroaching mass of guests. "Bu –"

"Oh! Whoops." She looked past him and nodded. What had been a steady stream had rapidly turned into a deluge of guests. Was it time already? They couldn't have spent that long on the intro. Or her internal chronometer was way off.

She patted her dress, searching for her phone. Wait. This thing didn't have any pockets! So where was it? She didn't leave in her quarters. But she knew she had it earlier.

Naka's grumbles were interrupted by a tap to the head.

"It's ten to showtime and I have your phone, so calm down." Her cameraman patted his breast pocket. "Now let's actually get out of everyone's way and go sit down, please? I actually need more than five seconds to get a good angle."

"Right, right. Sorry everyone." Naka waved to the, thankfully patient guests who were starting to gather. Okay, so she was letting the atmosphere get to her a bit.

She made an appropriately speedy beeline towards the seats that had been reserved for them. And she could easily hear the clunking about that was her minion attempting to do the same. He wasn't very good at it. But she'd give him credit for trying.

Their space was set apart from the other photographers and people who had been specifically enlisted or hired to film the event. They had no intention of offering commentary, so it was better to be elsewhere and avoid noise pollution. It led to their own positioning being a bit unusual, but they'd manage. Nothing so trifling would stop her from delivering her best performance!

Noticing movement off to one side of the auditorium, she tugged on her companion's shirt.

"Looks like its ShowTime."

Her minion raised the camera and began tracking the movement of the figure Naka had pointed out – an older-looking serviceman wearing dress blues – and pressed a button on the side of device. A red LED lit up and he gave a thumbs-up to the light cruiser. All was ready to go.

Naka whispered just loud enough for the microphone to catch.

"Alright everyone. It looks like things are about to get started. Our organist just sat down and looks like he's ready to start." She noticed the hall fall silent as the man set his hands down on the keys. The portable organ might not be as imposing or elegant as the massive instruments found in cathedrals or large churches, however that did not lessen the impact of the sound it produced. Not in the slightest.

She might have taken more time to appreciate the music had she not joined every other guest present in turning their attention to the rear of the auditorium.

Beginning his walk down the aisle was a man dressed similarly to the organist. However, Naka drew in a sharp breath when her rangefinders sorted out the adornments on his person. He wasn't SECNAV, but he was pretty damn close. For God to have sent one of his own to officiate was no small thing.

"And…it looks like our officiate has been sent by SECNAV himself." Naka's wide eyes followed the man's every step with no small amount of awe. Admirals were one thing, but someone from on high was another. No wonder there hadn't been anything on the LCIN! And she was damn sure Jintsu would have said something if she knew or if she'd been allowed to talk.

"Hey. Hey Idoru-chan." Naka's world returned into focus when she felt what had to be an elbow jam into her side. Okay, that was just a little dangerous. She sent a glare at her minion, but quickly dropped it when she saw Admiral Richardson standing where the officiate once had been.

"Whoops. Got a little distracted there."

She cleared her throat softly.

"Here comes the lucky bastard himself. How many of you lost money on this one? Come on, be honest." She hadn't, that much was certain. "I'm impressed, though. I didn't think he could clean up so well. He has been taught well. Yes. Yes."

She followed the camera's gaze as Richardson began making his way towards the front of the auditorium.

Naka wasn't joking either. She'd seen some of Jintsu's photos of the man when he was less than well dressed. Disheveled would be one way to put it. But she'd always thought the uniform looked like it had been half-assed or like it came out of someone else's closet. Like a cosplayer who wearing a costume that didn't fit. Right now, though, he actually looked like he belonged in that uniform. Those dress blues were not wasted on him anymore.

As Richardson took his place to the left of the officiate, she noted the total lack of panic or unease in his person. Good. She'd have been sorely disappointed in a lot of people if he had been.

But moving on! This was just the tip of the iceberg.

"Now for the best man." With a saucy grin, she turned her attention back to the entrance. Oh, this should be good. She really wished she could see the looks on everyone's faces.

She took a glance at her cameraman and snickered. The dumbstruck look on his face would have to do. But if it was any indication, she was missing out on some real gold out there. Sadly, omniscience was a bit outside her scope of idol powers.

Striding down the aisle clad in the dress blues of the JMSDF was Hiei, her accouterments polished to a mirror shine and her ribbon rack displayed proudly.

It was one thing to joke about such a goofball of a battleship being the Emperor's Ship. Naka considered it a whole other story when you actually saw Hiei live up to the name. It was the kind of awesome presence that left you reeling if you weren't prepared for it. The ripples amongst the guests told her quite a few weren't. Oh, those poor souls.

Naka stifled a giggle as Hiei broke form to wink at her admiral. An action that garnered a grin in response from him. Thick as thieves those two. She wasn't surprised at all that Hiei was the best man. There just was no one else who could fit the bill.

"Next up is…"

She drew circles with her finger as she tried to recall the names of the groomsmen who had yet to join the party.

"Here." A copy of the program obscured her vision for a moment courtesy of her cameraman. Whom she noted was being far less of a drag to be around now that they were actually at the ceremony and not just milling about.

"Thanks." Naka took the program and traced the names until she came to the next one on the roster. "Huh. That's an interesting collection. I wouldn't have expected this."

"It's not tha –" He found himself silenced again, this time by Naka's gloved hand over his mouth.

"Coming down the aisle now is Major Thomas Iberez, Chair Force. Be nice ladies, or he'll drop an angry army on you." Whether by plane or by simply throwing the Army remained to be seen. She'd seen a lot of people in her life, but she hadn't seen anyone so huge as this guy. Giant was almost an understatement.

He was taller than Jersey even. Sure, Americans. But still! How did he even fit in the cockpit? Didn't they have regulations on that sort of thing?

He did do well in his dress blues, though. So she'd definitely give him credit there.

"Is he taller than the admiral?"

"Yes. Even with the steps, yes."

"Right. Next member of the groom's loyal entourage..."

"Oh, Minion. You almost sound like you're having fun." She teased him a bit, earning a mild look in return. Even if he was being less of a drag, he was still a pain.

"Here comes Chief Petty Officer James Hunter. Sonarman for the _U.S.S. Washington_. No not that one. And doesn't he look sharp?"

Naka gaped as Minion so brazenly took the spotlight from her, effectively cutting off her fun and stealing her role as host of this stream. How dare he! If it weren't for the setting and the fact they were live, she'd give him a piece of her mind.

"Oh, and he's single."

Great, now he was dumping blood in the water.

It didn't help that the marching sonarman had the same kind of geeky charm Oyodo did when she didn't have ninety-nine percent of her vital fluids replaced with caffeine. She'd seen that once and only once. But the point remained that Minion may have signed the man's death warrant.

She waited for the man to finish taking his place before she acted. Let no one say that she would let go of her programs without a fight. Before the next groomsman began his march, she grabbed her Minion's thigh and delivered a none too gentle pinch. Hmm, only a wince and a nod. He's a durable one.

"Sorry."

"Next up is Army Lieutenant Colonel George Stryp. And unlike CPO Hunter, he's taken." She blinked and did a double take. Just how far did Richardson's reach go? This made three branches of America's military in key wedding positions.

"Nothing for the Army?" Whispered the cameraman.

"Well, he's handsome. And there are a lot of jealous eyes aimed at someone who I think is his wife." Naka narrowed her eyes at a member of the attendance. "If her smug look is any clue."

"Aren't you supposed to be good at this kind of thing? The narrating and such?"

"You be quiet."

"Sure, sure. Yes, ma'am." He trained the camera back onto the entrance to track the march of the last groomsman.

"Lastly, but not least, is Daniel Norman. He's a First Lieutenant in the Marines and one of the few to not snap in half after getting a bear hug from Jersey. Apparently the average jarhead can't withstand full strength battleship hugs. Whodathunkit." That didn't stop them from accepting of course. Big J loved her Marines and they loved her.

"All we're missing is the Coast Guard and we'd have everyone." Naka joked lightly while watching Daniel march. Even in ceremony, the Coasties were the forgotten branch of the armed forces.

A tap on her shoulder and a gesture from Minion pointed her to take a closer look the direction of their organist. Well, what do you know?

"Huh. I have been corrected and do apologize. We do have everyone. This most humble idol requests forgiveness from the U.S. Coasties for thinking you had been left out." Minion was rolling his eyes. And she didn't even need to see him do it to know.

As Daniel completed the groom's party with a set of crisp moments, the music shifted tone. It was deeper and carried a different sort of elegance. Naka was positive Jintsu had a hand in this. This was absolutely the kind of thing she'd set up. And it was probably only out of consideration for Mutsu and Jane's planning that the Imperial March wasn't playing.

She giggled a bit too loud as one of the guests turned to give her a shushing gesture.

Whoops.

Well, she could be forgiven. After all, the real stars of the show were about to appear. All leading up to the entrance of the lady of the day herself.

Unlike Richardson and his troops, the ladies were not marching down one at a time.

Nope.

They were ships. And a ship is naturally inclined to move in formation. Whether out on the high seas or down the aisle at a wedding.

"I don't think I need to give any introduction here, but let's do it anyway. Leading the bridesmaids is the Maid of Honor, the lovely bride's own sister and flagship of Admiral Goto's fleet: Battleship Nagato." Naka's eyes were transfixed on the vision that was Nagato. She didn't consider herself really inclined in that direction, however it was really, really hard to not imagine the possibility. The battleship just had that kind of natural charm no matter who you were.

It really didn't help things that Nagato was clad in an amazing navy dress that was tailored to be both elegant capable of evoking the same feeling as a set of dress blues. On her right sleeve, just below the shoulder, was an embroidered cuff. Emblazoned upon it was her rank, class, name, and some of her more notable ribbons. And the whole ensemble looked really good if Naka had been asked to voice her opinion.

Plus, the hair. Nagato's long, black hair had been freed from her bulky antennae and done up into a thick ponytail. It was tied off with a lacy ribbon of navy blue. Accenting the ribbon was a large hairpin sporting a golden chrysanthemum resembling the one on her bow.

A set of medium-length gloves that ended with a golden embroidery to match her cuff adorned her hands. And completing the look was a pair of flats. All of it matching the hue of her dress.

She idly reached over to shut Minion's jaw.

If he was this stunned by Nagato, then she was worried he'd have an overload when Mutsu finally came into view. At least his hands still seemed capable if the steadiness of the camera was sufficient proof.

"Following Nagato is Jintsu, escorted by Kawakaze."

Just like Nagato, Jintsu looked stunning in her dress. It was only slightly less-embellished, given she wasn't taking on such an important role. Yet it was just as beautiful. Her sister's trademark green ribbon had been woven into her hair to produce a very pretty bun. She really should wear it like that more often.

Unlike Nagato however, Jintsu's presence was far more subdued. The girl next door compared to the awe inspiring sight that was the battleship. It suited her sister though. They were never meant to be flashy. No matter how everyone interpreted Sendai's antics.

Kawakaze kept stride just abreast and slightly behind Jintsu. Naka felt herself grin as the destroyer's ridiculously long braid nearly smacked one of the guests as she walked. Her dress was even less elaborate than Jintsu's, but it still had that same shoulder cuff. It was quite cute. Very appropriate for the fox-like destroyer.

Just as the feeling imposed upon the auditorium shifted when Jintsu had come into view after Nagato, the third bridesmaid made her own waves.

"…Battleship Arizona and Shimakaze." Naka hadn't had time to actually meet the Standard battleship yet. However, if the way the redhead carried herself was any indication, she was definitely the more serious type. Which made it pretty funny that her escort was Shimakaze of all ships. Even more so that the destroyer was making every effort to mimic her.

Their outfits matched Jintsu and Kawakaze's, and so did the rest of the party as Naka glanced down the line.

Though of course Shimakaze was wearing her rabbit-ear ribbon. However she noticed the ears were a bit more well-tended than she remembered. They didn't bounce and weave with every step the destroyer took, but instead remained curved forward as if standing at attention. That had to be Arizona's influence. Had to be.

Naka was about to introduce the next pair for her streamers when she took another look at the fourth bridesmaid. A proper look this time. Not a glance or a peek. But a real, hard look.

Kongo's entire person was one step short of radiant. Sparkling, even. And she was absolutely positive the only reason it wasn't was because she didn't want to risk outshining the bride. Looks like that morsel of information about her and Goto was not exaggerated.

Naka pitied the Abyssal that tried to stand in her way. She wasn't even joking. She would have legitimate pity for the hellish monstrosity that tried to stand between Kongo and Goto. A fact that unnerved her to no end, but one she couldn't deny.

But next to the nearly vibrating battleship was a destroyer who looked like she didn't know whether to burst with joy, run away, or give a drill sergeant a run for their money in the serious department.

"It looks like poor Fubuki's a bit overwhelmed." If that wasn't putting it mildly, Naka would eat her proverbial hat.

"Think she'll be okay?"

The idol nodded with a smile and leaned in to whisper to him, tapping the mute on his camera.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she took a spill or did something silly by accident, but she'll do her best. She always does." Naka unmuted the camera and turned her attention to the last pair in the formation. She nearly spit when she did.

"That…is not the New Jersey I know." She pointed to the blond battleship in disbelief. What in the name of SECNAV? Further breaking her mind was a calm and almost serene Yudachi walking as her escort. "That is also not the Poi I know."

"You know everyone watching just heard that, right?" He raised an eyebrow, but continued filming.

"Don't care."

The poise, grace, and elegance on display was nothing Naka had ever seen in Jersey. Not in her imagination and certainly not in reality. Where was the vulgar, rude, and lazy warship? What was this beauty queen? It wasn't just out there so she didn't embarrass anyone. This was the real deal.

"I feel like everything I know has become a lie. A terrible, terrible lie." Naka began muttering to herself. Could such things escape even her powers of observation and ties into the LCIN? Or had she been slacking? At least Yudachi looked like she was putting in some effort to act the part. Alien, but not completely unfathomable.

"Hey, Traffic Cone." He tapped her on the head with a temporarily free hand. "They're almost ready to send down the star of the show."

"Huh?"

"Bride. Mutsu."

"Right! Right. Okay. Just a little shaken." Thankfully he didn't press her further and simply raised an eyebrow. "Okay."

She took a deep breath and laid her eyes on the party at the entrance. First would be the flower girls, then the ring bearer, and finally Mutsu herself. All they needed was…

The organist let the music fade ever so slightly before ramping it back up into a tune that was unquestionably unmistakable.

…Lohengrin.

"I'm just gonna be quiet and let you all watch." Naka could have easily continued her narrations. It wasn't a matter of difficulty at all. She wanted to give her whole attention to the ceremony now. The fun and games with everyone else was done now.

Leading the final march was none other than Shinano. Unlike the rest of the ships who had marched before her, her dress was white and lacked anything remotely military. Naka thought it was a bit of shame for the youngest Yamato to not display her name proudly. Then again, she also knew how shy the girl was.

It was definitely for the better.

Still, she would definitely give kudos to her. Being the leader of the flower girls was no small task. Yet there wasn't so much as a nervous twitch in her entire hull as she walked and scattered the rose petals along the path. Plus the quiet smile on her face was absolutely adorable.

Almost as amazing were her escorts. Naka never thought she'd see American submarines escorting a Japanese carrier, but lo and behold. Albacore took Shinano's right while Archerfish took the left. Together the three tossed handful after handful of petals. They never seemed to run out despite not carrying very large baskets though. Must be a sub thing.

Naka did almost break her silence when she noticed Albie and Archie having to move double-time to keep up with Shinano's far longer stride. It wasn't the most efficient arrangement, but it was too cute for her or anyone to really care.

In their wake was the happiest little girl Naka had ever seen.

Nuts to candy stores and Christmas, Jane Richardson had them all beat. From what Jintsu had told her, it only made sense. The girl was spinning more threads than anyone her age had any reason to. All to make sure she had a growing, happy family. And walking down the aisle of her father's wedding to one of her mothers as the ring bearer was some of the best proof her plots were paying off.

That girl was already a nightmare. Naka knew for certain the world would never be prepared for the day Jane took up the mantle of Admiral. It would be as if an NCO took a commission and didn't lose their powers. Combine that with her affinity for the Navy and…yep, she'd take over the world.

Her and those mini-boats. Or whatever you called the two miniature versions of Arizona and Mutsu who never left Jane's side.

The music's power grew and all eyes were became transfixed on the figure following behind Jane.

Mutsu.

Clad in an exquisite white wedding gown, she cut a breathtaking figure. Lace and sheer in all the right places and a flowery pattern added to the image in the best of ways. Held in one hand was a bouquet of white flowers bound with a ribbon. Adorning her neck was a choker bearing the gold chrysanthemum of the Japanese Navy.

Naka noted Mutsu did not wear a traditional veil, but rather seemed to have had hers modeled after her radar array. Replacing polished steel was a lace headband of white and green with the antennae mounts being replaced with a bundle of small flowers. It was very, very pretty.

Her long train was held aloft by the Taffies of all ships, each having taken their duties with the utmost seriousness.

And completing the image was the man standing in as Father of the Bride: Admiral Goto.

Naka had seen Goto in uniform plenty of times. But she'd never seen him fully kitted out in his most formal of dress. How Kongo was keeping herself in check was beyond her ability to comprehend at the moment. Goto really knew how to clean up.

The image was just too perfect. It was more than she could have imagined and she was glad for that. The entire scene would have left her speechless if she hadn't already decided to keep quiet.

She was only slightly cognizant of a hand pushing her jaw shut. Had to be Minion.

Admiral Goto led Mutsu up the steps towards Richardson and the two men exchanged salutes before shaking hands. She couldn't quite make out what they were saying to each other, but whatever it was had made Mutsu's smile even brighter. Richardson's smile grew warmer as well. But it was hard to tell next to the radiance that was his bride.

Goto moved to take his seat while Mutsu and Richardson joined hands before SECNAV's avatar.

The man cleared his throat and all went silent. Even a pin dropping would have found a way to silence itself.

"Thank you, all of you gathered here today for this auspicious occasion."

He gestured to the bride and groom.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate this union between John Richardson and Mutsu. To make official, permanent, and eternal their love for one another."

"They have decided to face their burdens together. To share in all their triumphs, sorrows, victories and defeats together. They are as one. A whole in body and soul. Entrusting to each other their entire being with all of their strengths and weaknesses."

"This is an act of love that cannot be understated in its power and importance. A vow to one another before the whole of creation."

"John and Mutsu are here today to make that vow."

There was a pause and Naka blinked as the officiate grinned.

"A vow I have never before seen backed by naval rifles."

Naka snorted in a very unladylike manner. She was grateful she wasn't the only one as half the wedding party and some of the guests found it pretty amusing as well. Even Arizona was having difficulty keeping a straight face.

"We shall now begin the exchange of vows."

There was a silence as he gestured to the pair. A silence that dragged on for far too long.

Long enough for Hiei to deliver a swift kick to Richardson's rear.

"Thank you, Hiei." Mutsu giggled while Richardson worked to recompose himself.

"Anytime."

Richardson took in a deep breath and the amusement died down.

"Mutsu. I, John Alfred Richardson, do promise to take you as my wife, to love and to keep you. In good times. In bad times. And all the times in between. Now into forever as your husband. You are the flagship of my heart."

"John. I, Mutsu, vow to love and keep you. To be there through the harshest of storms and the calmest of seas. Today, tomorrow, and every day after that beyond the end of time. I take you as my husband, the one and only Admiral of my heart."

They smiled warmly at each other.

"Will the ring bearer please present the rings?"

Jane took that as her cue and marched forward. Her short, dark hair bobbing in tune with each step.

Rather than take the offered rings, Richardson and Mutsu kneeled down to pull Jane into a hug. Mutsu placed a kiss on the little girl's head. Naka had to rub her eyes to keep the tears from falling. She would admit she wasn't immune to such a moving image.

When they separated, she could make out Mutsu sniffling with a smile. She was certain even the most stone-faced person would be doing the same.

With rings delivered, Jane made her way back to her seat next to Goto. Naka might not have been able to hear if any words were exchanged, but she quite clearly saw the Admiral place a comforting hand on the child's shoulder. Jane smiled in response. Goto would definitely be making Kongo a very, very happy ship.

"Now then, are you ready?"

Bride and groom nodded resolutely.

"John, please repeat after me and place the ring on Mutsu's finger."

He nodded and took Mutsu's left hand.

"With this ring, I thee wed."

He smiled and spoke the words loud and clear. With one gentle and sure motion, he placed the ring upon Mutsu's finger.

"Mutsu."

Mutsu took Richardson's hand and spoke the same words. Her voice rang out for all to hear. Like her beloved, she placed the ring on his finger with the same motion of surety.

The officiate raised his hands and proclaimed to the gathered with a proud voice.

"In the name of SECNAV, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife." He took a deep breath and smiled. "To all present, I present to you John and Mutsu Richardson. You may now kiss the bride!"

The whole assembly burst into cheers as the admiral and battleship sealed their union with a kiss.

Naka felt herself cheering and clapping alongside everyone else. It was about time! Joyous laughter burst from her lips as she watched Mutsu abuse her strength to dip her new husband into an even deeper kiss. Oh, that was priceless!

The organist began playing something upbeat and cheery, prompting the wedding party to get a move on. There was a reception to go to after all. And the more time they spent cheering here was less time cheering there. Which was important because over there was where there was food and drink and less formal merriment.

Richardson and Mutsu locked arms and shared another kiss before walking up the aisle. Now with a very noticeable spring in their steps.

Right on their heels was Hiei and Nagato, the latter looking far more pleased than Naka had ever seen her.

Then came Jintsu, Iberez, and Kawakaze, which had Naka actively trying to not laugh. Her sister wasn't the shortest ship out there. But next to this giant, she was positively diminutive! Kawakaze just made it even more funny. She'd be giving her a hard time about that later for certain.

Following them was Arizona and Hunter with Shimakaze in tow. Poor Hunter looked incredibly uncomfortable despite his best efforts to not look so. Maybe it was because of who he was walking with? Or because he was trying to not overtly catch the eye of a certain guest. Naka was far from blind.

After them was Norman and Jersey followed by Stryp and Kongo, each with their respective destroyer escorts in tow. She was convinced now that Jersey had been replaced by an alien. The Iowa-class was way, way too…not boisterously American for her comfort level. At least Kongo was normal, rapidly approaching Mutsu's level of unrestrained joy.

"…Now that's adorable."

"Hmm?"

Naka pointed Minion towards Jane leading a formation of Taffies escorting Goto and SECNAV's representative up the aisle. It was too cute. Maybe even more cute since she was running high on the wave of emotions from the crowd.

"Okay, yes, I will concede that."

"Darn right you will!" She grabbed his wrist and laughed. "Come on, let's get to the reception. The night's just getting started!"

* * * * *

Sorry for the break inbetween chapters. My own fics happened, life happened, WoWs and Kancolle happened…I hope you enjoyed it so far, and review!


	9. Chapter 9: A wild Midget sub appears!

The scent of love permeates the air, and it's almost _suffocating_. The most unlikely of couples, contrary to what the others say, are about to make it official. A first in history. A man and his warship are to be lawfully wedded.

She scoffs. While she's not surprised that someone else is first, she's still surprised that it's Mutsu, rather than Kongo, as she long suspected. It's a Big Seven day, and even the hyperactive battlecruiser is toning it down. More will no doubt follow in the coming months and years.

Except her, it seems like.

 _"I'm incredibly busy."_

"You're not my type."

Even when she tried to do things right, nothing worked. Nobody appreciated her, save her sisters. Not in that way, though, which was fine. She brushes a few locks of wavy brown hair away from her face and lets out a sigh. Richardson and Mutsu deserve to make one another happy, though. Maybe one day she would be at that altar. But her gloved hand lacks a ring, reminding her that such a day seems further and further away.

"And he's single~!"

Her ears pick up the teasing call from the hapless cameraman Naka brought along. She catches scent. A lanky young man. If Oyodo had an American counterpart, he would be it. She could see the two together, but Goto's secretary was too busy stuffing her face full of coffee and paperwork to even give a damn about finding someone. Not that she would complain. It meant a chance to correct a wrong.

Her russet brown eyes scan him from head to toe, but being a submarine crewman, from what the cameraman mentioned, he's on high alert. While he doesn't openly show it, he's on edge, unused to being surrounded by people, and by so much power. He heard what the cameraman said, too. A sonar buoy dropped right on his head. He knows that any number of the others here will gun for him the first chance they get, save the Bride, for obvious reasons and Kongo, whose heart was set on her Admiral from Day One. His walking is stiff, his head tries not to swivel around too much.

Worthy prey for this Hungry Wolf, perhaps?

He's clearly nervous, but she would go easy on him if it means Victory.

The sharks were no doubt catching scent, but she had it first. A few others eye him much like a box of gourmet chocolates. She isn't in the mood to share. It's all or nothing.

The ceremony passes without incident. Admiral Richardson and Mutsu are now the first Man and Ship to be wedded, and again, the first of many. The other groomsmen pass down the aisle behind the newlywed couple, already expecting children. She wants kids. But that won't happen unless she finds someone.

The other groomsmen are escorted by the bridesmaids present. And he was escorted by _her_. The Standard, the Martyr. He's even more on edge, the scent of dread wafting through the air, barely noticeable amidst the smell of love. Even the cameraman is aware she has the sailor's scent, giving her a knowing look. Said sailor, Hunter, is probably coming up with an evasion plan, either from Arizona, or from the wolfpack of ships that would no doubt gun for him.

But the Hunter is about to become the Hunted. There is a small irony to it. A submarine had claimed her before she could reach Myoko, trapped with Takao in besieged Singapore. And now she is about to go after someone who serves aboard one, one that could tear her original hull asunder and sink her escorts in a heartbeat.

Dangerous prey, but Victory would be more than worth it. She would need to outwit her competition, beat them, and ensure that her target would be unable to escape to deep waters, where he could evade his pursuers. It's a game of Four-Dimensional Chess, as someone online said. Not only would she need to know where to put her pieces, but when.

She takes inventory. She knows herself well, what parts of her stand out. And her dress is wisely chosen. Just enough of her to entice, to lure. But merely luring him may not be enough. Given the fact that she has competition in the form of several other ships, she may have to go for a direct attack.

She gives him one direct look, letting him see the insatiable hunger in her eyes before he exits the door.

"I'm on the hunt, I'm after you~."

The outside to the Auditorium is increasingly packed as I slowly weave my way through the crowds, careful not to trip over a set of wires. I never did well in crowds like this. A mass of humanity, threatening to squeeze me until I pop just so that they could catch even a _glimpse_ of what was about to happen inside. Even news crews are present, only held back by a line of MPs.

 _'Easy, James.'_ I think to myself. My sister's helped out in more than one wedding. If anyone should be here, it's her. Not me. Not the guy who'd rather be buried in his headphones monitoring the Waterfall and keeping an ear out for any kind of contact. And yet they decided that I would be a good groomsman. At least I have an occasion to break out my Dress Whites, and the combo cover has a good weight to it.

The guy in front of me is Chair Force, and probably the tallest son of a bitch I've ever seen. The kind of guy who would kick my ass and not even notice. Which calls into question as to why he was flying planes instead of doing something where he wouldn't be squished into a cockpit. Or maybe I'm being presumptuous.

Behind me is a somewhat high-ranking officer in the Army. A ring adorns his finger, and I wouldn't be surprised if his spouse is inside. He gives me a friendly smile and a pat on the shoulder before I turn around and keep walking.

The aisle is thankfully less crowded, with room to actually breathe for once. And yet I'm still nervous. My eyes dart, and my mind makes notes of each contact I see and hear. Master One, _Nagara_ -class CL, Master Seven, _Akizuki_ -class DD. Ships that posed a serious threat to those who came before me, in their cramped _Gato_ and _Tench_ -class subs, and ones whose dark counterparts can't be stopped by more modern _688s_ and _774s_ because of complete bullshit.

Had our SSNs been able to do their jobs and kill the fuck out of everything, the War would have been over in two months and a whole bunch of subs would be covered from nose to screw with tallies of dead U-Boats. But there was no use raging against whatever asshole sent these freaks forth. It'll get its due at some point, hopefully in the form of an ADCAP or a successor that _works_.

It's supposed to be a happy occasion, after all. The Admiral in charge, a man named Richardson, decided that he was in love with his flagship and promptly torpedoed her and put two on the slips. If there was one good thing about this, it was the idiotic puns.

In the corner of my eye, I can see Naka and some bald guy manning an oversize camera. Were they trying to get this thing filmed in _IMAX!?_ Who did she think she was, Christopher Nolan?

"And he's single!" The cameraman shouts.

I know he's talking about me. I can feel several pairs of eyes on me. They don't even need to transmit active sonar. They have visual contact and regular surface radar if their vision is obscured by someone else hoping to have a crack at me. That, and there's a sonobuoy right above my head.

I think back to high school, and how I was a timid bastard when it came to sex and relationships. Popular thanks to my wit, yet afraid that I would hurt someone if I made a move or accepted an offer. My parents weren't too eager to see me date someone at the time, either. So, I simply read up on stuff. People may have the right to be ignorant, but they have no excuse nowadays. But I still kept my distance, unsure of what would happen once I started treading that unknown ground.

It feels surreal to have this kind of attention and lack any kind of direction.

I'd rather deal with them on my own terms rather than have to fend off a group trying to turn my life into one of the harem shows destroying anime, though. I know they'll make their move at the reception, in unfamiliar ground for me. If it were back home, I'd already have three or four escape routes planned, thanks to the home field advantage. Instead, I'm going to be in a corner, and the only thing worse than amorous Shipgirls are heartbroken ones.

James Hunter, single and now prey for any number of Shipgirls. Ironic considering my last name. Yet how could I turn the tables?

I remember that I'm coming up on the altar and promptly take my place. There is no God anymore, only SECNAV, and He decided to send one of His Own to ensure that Man and Battleship are lawfully wedded. I don't question it, even though I could have sworn that officers have no right to conduct weddings. But this War has thrown the Rulebook well beyond the window. I briefly look at my finger, imagining what it would look like with a little gold ring adorning it. I can't help but imagine the name of whoever I marry inscribed on it. The question is, who?

I can't help but feel that I'll get an answer to that question very soon. Admiral Richardson arrives and takes his place. I resist the urge to snap to salute. Now isn't the occasion. But he looks sharp for a middle-aged man who's had to wage a full-scale war against eldritch monstrosities that threaten to kill everyone, using girls and women in miniskirts.

Speaking of, they're starting to come down the aisle, the Bridesmaids. Each and every one of them a Shipgirl of all shapes and sizes save for auxiliaries, carriers, heavy cruisers, and amphibious assault ships. The organist plays the usual wedding song, but something else entirely plays in my head. I can't help but imagine myself aboard a dwarf SSN of some sort while the full-size hulls pull into port for the occasion.

Each are majestic in their own right. Even if they're not the graceful titans of a bygone era, each carries an air of dignity and raw power about them. It makes me wonder what it would be like to see our fleet return. Even if our mighty wall of _Essex_ CVs didn't return, it'd still be nice to see the ponderous Standards as one big group, and an endless horde of _Fletcher_ DDs screening them.

Speaking of Standards, apparently Arizona is among the Bridesmaids. I can faintly make out scars on her person, but I'm silently amazed to see the redhead in proud shape instead of a rusty, leaky wreck, one of only two places that America considers Holy Ground.

New Jersey comes up shortly after, and, instead of being a foul-mouthed love letter to 1980s-era Reaganism, is instead a truly dignified Sea Queen in her elegant dress. Her blonde hair cascades down her back like a golden waterfall. Even Yuudachi looks amazing, with a bit of a warrior's air about her.

Richardson's daughter takes up the rear, alongside Shinano and a pair of subs. The Yamato sister looks so young for someone who's so massive, and yet she carries herself with silent pride, befitting of a ship that was to be Japan's Pride and Joy. But Jane Richardson…

I've heard rumors about how much power she has with zero rank whatsoever. If I go career, she's definitely going to be a pain in the ass for me when she finally gets out of Annapolis. Any other school won't _fit_ for her. She _is_ the Navy, much like Palpatine is the Senate.

But all of that pales compared to the Woman of the Hour.

Mutsu.

She looks almost _Angelic_ in her wedding dress, almost _glowing_ , not from her pregnancy, but from something _else._ Is this the power of Love?

She steps up to the altar, gently hugging and placing a small kiss on Jane. Everyone is on the verge of tears, including myself. I take a moment to remove my glasses and wipe at my eye. It's a sight that radiates _purity_ , even if these circumstances would have been seen as far from it, in a bygone era.

SECNAV's Agent conducts the ceremony while myself and the other groomsmen stand at attention. Mom's probably watching Naka's livestream, proud of how far I've come. Of course, Richardson needs a small reminder that he's getting married in the form of Hiei ramming a knee against his ass. We laugh before the proceedings continue.

My heart races. I'm bearing direct witness to history, here. I struggle to keep my breathing under control and ensure that this is a dignified occasion. The Admiral deserves as much. But there's a feeling that there's so much more. Mutsu isn't going to be the last of these girls to be married. That much is obvious. I heard that someone over in Washington State was in a lesbian relationship with, funnily enough, the state's namesake battlewagon. Curious, though ultimately unsurprising these days.

It's inevitable that the heavier ships will eventually find someone to love and marry, but what of the lighter ones, the destroyers and subs? None were older than high school age at most. Would they be able to grow up? Or would they be stuck forever young, and on their own?

I barely hear the words of the ceremony. So much is going through my mind.

Eventually we come to the final part, where the two seal the deal. The two kiss, only for Mutsu to turn what was supposed to be a simple gesture into a moment of passion. I can swear that I can see the outline of her tongue against his cheek before the two break off.

I groan a little. Save it for after you two get home, _then_ have your fun.

Everyone claps, including myself. After years of struggle and loss, it's about damned time that we get something genuinely happy to witness. The two make their way down, followed by their entourage. The airman, Iberez, I think his name is, links his arm with Jintsuu while Kawakaze follows. As I make my way to the steps, I remember that I'm with Arizona.

I do my damndest not to freak as I take her arm. Shimakaze follows the two of us, and I can feel barely-contained energy emanating from her. At least she looks more modest than usual. However, Arizona is _the_ Standard, and a Martyr on top of it. And yet she's a person at the end of the day, despite of the scars. Being a Standard, she and I make our way out at a leisurely pace, not even at her normal cruising speed. She looks at me and I give a small, awkward smile. The fact that I'm still escorting a damned _War Hero_ is further complicated by the fact that several Shipgirls are threatening to transmit active sonar on me.

But I catch scent of _something_. No, _someone_. I'm being tracked by a starving beast. A Hungry Wolf. My eyes briefly meet those of the youngest _Myōkō_ , and all I see is _desire_ , framed by wavy brown hair and drawing my attention towards that purple dress of hers, tailored to show off her fairly-generous curves. And I can faintly pick up her words, dripping with _lust_.

 _"I'm on the hunt, I'm after you~."_

My mind goes to the last words of a certain space Australian- _'Well I'm right fucked, aren't I?'_

Daylight can't come soon enough as I exit the auditorium, taking deep breaths amidst the fresh air. For a given value of 'fresh'. This is a major port and naval base, after all. I do my best to smile and wave at the cameras, alongside Arizona.

"Are you nervous about something, Petty Officer?" The redhead asks.

Her reputation is the least of my problems, even if it's a story to cherish. "I have a feeling that I'm about to have a rough evening." I reply. It's a small weight off my shoulders. "Several of them…"

"Were eyeing you like a box of donuts." Arizona finishes. "Trust me, this isn't the first time I've dealt with people who've gotten too lonely."

"Try not to be too slo~ow about it~!" Shimakaze sing-songs. I turn around. Her distinctive bunny ears are still there, but she's in a much more modest dress than what she usually wears. Could a subject change be in order?

"Not the first time I've had to make quick decisions, Shima." I counter. "Also, that dress of yours is lovely."

"I helped pick it out." Arizona smiles.

"My sister would have made a similar choice if she were in your position." I add. "Shame she isn't here. She would have _loved_ to see something like this, if it wasn't for the fact that there's a rather large amount of firepower present."

"She's uncomfortable with us?" The Standard asks, surprised.

"It's a long story." I say. "But you girls kind of shattered her worldview. Granted, she isn't the only one, but it's rather disturbing to see her just blankly pretend that the Navy has this whole thing handled conventionally, rather than accept that you girls are mankind's best hope of kicking the asses of these freaks."

The Standard and even Shimakaze are taken aback.

"She…she thinks we're a _publicity stunt?_ "

"Considering that you girls are Michael Bay's _wet dream_ between your supernaturally good looks and highly-compressed firepower, it'd be hard not to see it if it wasn't for the fact that you girls are winning battles on your own. Repeatedly." I dryly remark. "The fact that I'm probably going to be forced to leave the reception with one of you as a girlfriend isn't going to help. Or will it? Fuck if I know."

I hear footsteps behind me. Heavy, but not with thousands of tons of armor and guns weighing them down. An Admiral.

I turn around and snap to salute. It's the Japanese one, Goto. Wait, he's a member of a foreign service. I lower my hand, eliciting a chuckle from the man.

"Leaving with a girlfriend?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. Kongo pops up, not even making a sound before I see her beaming face and flowing brown hair. Mutsu may have been an Angel during the wedding, but Kongo gave off that air, too. Everything about her came off about as soft as one, even.

"Perhaps there's even more Burning Love in the air~?" She asks, grinning.

"I came here expecting a wedding and food." I tell the battlecruiser. "Not someone wishing to experience modern torpedo warfare."

The two chuckle, and I can feel heat behind me, no doubt from Arizona. The woman has a certain reputation, ironic considering that little incident back in the 30s. But perhaps understandable. Even today, the Navy wouldn't be terribly fond of people sneaking hookers aboard their ships.

"And who do you suspect desires a night battle?" Goto asks me.

"I picked up more than a few pairs of eyes. One of the Akizuki sisters, who I'm going to have to shoot down on principle, Kinu, like, two or three others. But one stood out."

"Ashigara, I presume?" He asks, giving a knowing smirk.

"How'd you guess?"

"Because she's eyeing you right now."

I turn around and spot the _Myōkō_ sister waving at me while she meanders her way towards the reception hall. I can see the faint glint of sparkles in her eyes.

"This is going to be interesting." I state with dread.

"While I can't exactly order you, I still suggest that you talk to her."

My eyebrow raises up. "You're suggesting that I let her smother me?"

"I'm suggesting that you give her something to chase after, if only so that I don't have to hear her complain about how she can't land a boyfriend. And do be aware that she'll be on patrol this evening, so you won't have to deal with her for long."

I'm momentarily stupefied. Let someone chase after me to the ends of the Earth? For God's sake…

"The reception's in less than an hour. We probably shouldn't wait." Arizona remarks, breaking the silence.

"R-right." I stutter.

Goto and Kongo practically rush ahead, leaving me with the ponderous Standard and her lightning fast escort.

"So, where were we? Something about a publicity stunt?" Shimakaze asks.

"Yes." Arizona remembers. "Your sister believes us to be actors? Then what of the Abyssals?"

"She doesn't think about it. She thinks that it's just a normal war or something." I inform the two. "When I asked about who she thinks we're at war with, she vaguely says 'somebody', and calls me an idiot for joining the Navy. Ironically, she was the most stable of my family before the war broke out." I sigh. "Mom's somewhat okay with what's going on, and she took my sister to a shrink, but the guy simply said that she's just in overwhelming denial. Fuck, why am I even saying this? The Navy has shrinks, too."

The two just look at me, unsure what to say.

"Part of me just wants to sit on my boat and quietly mope about how fucked up things have gotten on my homefront. In a way, you're lucky that you're just ships given human form rather than people with families in some house or apartment somewhere." I tell them. "God knows how people would react if you lot lived lives as regular people before now."

There was a rumor that Richardson's previous, late wife was our first carrier, _Langley_ , though anyone who looked into it repeatedly ran into dead ends. Maybe that explained why _Enterprise, Essex_ , and our small horde of _Clevelands_ and _Baltimores_ had yet to return. I'll be damned if I know. I didn't rank high enough for this kind of shit.

"I still had a mother of my own, of sorts." Arizona says quietly. "Utah. One of our first dreadnoughts. She was almost like Connie, in a way. Wise, helpful. When we worried about something, she would help assuage our fears. On the rare occasion that we tried to talk to our crews and failed, she would tell us that we would eventually find someone who could see and hear us."

Her tone is whimsical, nostalgic.

"And what about you, Speedy Gonzales?" I ask Shimakaze. "Anyone you considered a mom?"

"I didn't really have one." She quickly cuts me off.

"Right, right." I say, rubbing my temple. Most of her comrades had sunk by that point, beneath an endless tide of American steel. "Sorry about that."

It's strange to think that ships had other ships they considered mothers. Considering they couldn't reach their crews, they sure as hell didn't have fathers, unless Enterprise somehow made Halsey see her, much like in _Destiny_.

"It's fine."

The crowd is well ahead of us as we stroll towards the reception area at a leisurely pace.

I sigh. "At least I can happily tell any kids I have that I was paired up with one of America's biggest War Heroes for this." I say with a small smile. "That'll be a memory to cherish."

"I'm sure they'll be proud of you." The redhead tells me, smiling. She looks nice with one, I'll admit.

"And what about me?" Shimakaze asks.

"I'll tell them that I was escorted by Japan's answer to Ricky Bobby." I quip. I'm sorely tempted to say something less savory, but I cull my tongue on that.

The blonde raises an eyebrow. "Who's Ricky Bobby?"

I laugh a little. "You really need to see _Talladega Nights_. Ricky's much like you, wants to go fast."

Her eyes light up slightly, bringing a smile to my face. Though part of me can't help but get a feeling that I'll regret this.

Arizona finds herself pondering it. Meanwhile, my mind drifts towards Ashigara, and how the Hungry Wolf has decided that I'd be fair game. What would happen if she finally caught me? How the hell would I tell my family that I wound up with a Japanese CA as a fianceè or a spouse, in such a case?

 _("Oh hi, Mom. This is my wife, Ashigara."_

Her coffee mug spills. My sister balks at how I wound up with someone who admittedly looked like she could model for Victoria's Secret before it finally hits her that she's in the presence of, not a well-paid actress, but a 15,000 ton warship.

"Ahh, hi.")

The mental image is cringe worthy at best, but since she's been sicced on me, it seems to be all but an inevitability. Yet would I truly love her? Or would it merely be pity considering she has a reputation for having zero luck on the dating scene?

As the three of us enter the reception hall, I guess I'll have to find out.

Heavy cruisers Atago and Maya were unquestionably sisters. Both had the exact same build, identical save for the handful of tiny variations that creep in as yard engineers fix small problems and dock-workers take liberties to streamline production. Both carried the same three/two split main battery. Both cruisers had a silhouette dominated by a vast monolithic pyramid of a superstructure. Both had the same wing-mounted catapults amidships and the same smartly-raked fore-funnel. In every way known to naval engineering, the two ships were unquestionably sisters.

But, if the two were removed far enough that only one could be observed at a time, even the most astute student of human nature would be hard pressed to identify them as even distant relatives. Their bodies might be nigh-on identical, but every other detail couldn't be more different.

Atago's hair was sunkissed blond, Maya's a nondescript brown. Atago dressed at all times in the prim and proper dress uniform of her class. Her angle-length coat was buttoned tightly over her chubby middle and tailored just as smartly over her infamously top-heavy hull form. A crisply-tied cravat and sunny smile completed the dressy white-tie appearance.

Maya, meanwhile, preferred the simpler PT uniform of her class. A shapeless, sleeveless sailor-top in simple blue minimized her impressive bust and drew more attention to her well-muscled arms. Her neckerchief was simple red, and often tied only with the laziest of knots, and her plain white skirt was paired with a perpetually semi-interested scowl.

It made Alaska's head hurt just looking at the two sisters, which is why she'd excused herself to go cuddle her adoptive momboat in a sunbeam at the first chance she got. Atago, however, was going to enjoy every second she had to spend with her sister.

The first order of business had been, of course, food. The last time Maya ate anything was all the way over in _Japan_ , and even then, it was only a few morsels to tide her over until her convoy reached the States. Atago would not let that stand, and she'd booked a table at her favorite restaurant weeks in advance.

It was a nice place right on the Mississippi, and they served the most _amazing_ crawfish. Atago liked crawfish because they were delicious. Alaska liked them because once she'd gotten the meat out she could play with the still-jointed shell. It was a meal and a toy all in one.

"Okay, I'll give you this," Maya picked her teeth with a claw she'd torn off a crawfish currently residing in her belly. "These are _good_."

"I know!" Atago beamed and balanced a corncob between her gloved fingers. American food wasn't the easiest thing to eat while remaining prim and proper, but it just felt like love on a plate. "So…how's Japan?"

Maya slouched in her chair and shrugged. "Same. Worse, maybe. I dunno, I was only there for a few days. Saw Chokai, though."

"Oh?" Atago somehow perked up more than she already was. "And?"

"She's doing good," said Maya. "Sends her best and all that."

Atago smiled, but didn't say anything. For a long while, the two sisters ate in happy silence. There wasn't much Atago could talk about without driving her tomboyish sister insane, and the situation wasn't much improved in the other direction. But Maya was her little sister, and Atago was happy just to be spending some time with her. And she could tell that Maya was enjoying it too.

"So," Maya was the first to break the silence. "Think, uh, we could hit the base sometime?"

"Sure," said Atago, silently re-arranging her plans for the evening. She never knew quite what Maya would be in the mood for, so she always drew up several dozen contingencies for every possibility.

"Cool," said Maya. "I hear Sara's got a brace of peacemakers and I've been _dying_ to get my hands on a wheel gun."

Atago smiled. Introducing her sister to her friends would just make her day! "Sure, I think Miss Sara doesn't have any duties. If she does, there's a few ranges in town."

Maya chuckled to herself. "Thanks, sis."

Atago beamed, "No problem, little sister."

—|—|—

Gale knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was pregnant. Not because she'd gone to the OB/GYN for a checkup; scheduling a checkup had been surprisingly difficult. Nor was it because of the destroyers' habit of snuggling her middle and cooing sweet – yet horrifyingly violent – nothings into her bellybutton like it was some sort of speaking tube. Not even was it because of the tiny spark of life the sailor could feel growing deep inside her womb.

No, Gale knew she was pregnant because she had an irresistible craving for liver. She'd never had the slightest inclination to try the legendarily-horrible foodstuff before, but for the past few days every time she closed her eyes all she could see was a heaping plate of fried chicken-liver chili. It wasn't nearly as pleasant of a mental image as the one of Wash lounging on the bed naked save for a few strategically-placed and rather sheer sheets that Gale normally daydreamed of.

Gale finally gave in to her cravings and ordered a plate for dinner. It was surprisingly not bad. A little…odd on her tongue, but it made her cravings vanish like ice-cubes on Wash's delightful little tummy.

"Hey, Doc?" Gale glanced at her dinner companion for the first time in a while. She hadn't been spending quite as much time with the academic as she used to – mostly because Wash had been around and the stoic battleship was surprisingly frisky under the right circumstances – but she could tell there was something a little off about him. "You, uh…doing okay?"

Crowning shrugged. "It's nothing," he said. "I…assume you know about Jersey?"

Gale nodded. "'bout everyone on base knows by now, you two were so sweet." She decided not to mention how much money she'd lost on the breakup. Or how, somehow, freaking _Hibiki_ made out like a bandit.

The professor shrugged again. "It's for the best, probably," he admitted. "Wasn't exactly a healthy relationship."

"Still cute, though," Gale popped a morsel of liver in her mouth. And promptly gagged when she remembered that, delicious or not, she was eating liver. "Ah, um…so…you going to head back east?"

Crowning shot her a look. "Why would I do that?"

"Didn't you come here for her?" asked Gale. It wasn't the _furthest_ someone had gone for a girl, but it had to be up there. Then again, most girls don't have butts like the big Iowa. "Jersey, I mean."

"What, and leave you?" Crowning leaned back in his chair with a smile. "Or Kirishima, she might have a one-track pen, but she's surprisingly well-read."

Gale smirked and made a few mental notes. She might've lost on the Jerseybowl, but here's hoping she could make her money back with Kirishima. "That so?"

Crowning nodded, clearly oblivious to the sailor's salacious smirk. "And…you know Dee comes by and asks for a bedtime story before every patrol?" He chuckled, "The whole squadron cuddling with hot cocoa and marshmallows." He trailed off with a wistful sigh. "I came here for Jersey, but I got so much more."

"Fair enough," Gale smiled and lazily stirred her dinner. "So, you hear the latest from the Gulf?"

"Sister Sara?" Crowning nodded. His romance with Jersey might've fizzled out, but from what he heard, America's first battlecruiser to return had a burning romance of truly nuclear proportions. "You should have heard Kirishima squeal."

"So _that's_ what that was," said Gale. The littlest Kongo was just as obsessed with love as her big sister, and just as happy when other people found it.

—|—|—

Saratoga had been slightly skeptical when Alaska had described napping in a sunbeam as 'the most relaxing activity you will ever do in the history of ever.' She'd chalked the superlatives up to enthusiasm born from the large cruiser's incredible youth and let it pass with a smile. But when 'Laska found a sunny patch of grass on-base and urged Sara to lay down, the big battlecruiser realized Alaska hadn't been overselling a thing.

If anything, 'laska had massively understated just how gloriously comfortable a good sun-warmed nap was. The battlecruiser sprawled out on the grass, her long pale legs soaking in the rays as a gentle breeze washed through her long hair.

Alaska lay at an angle, her snowy head resting on Sara's trim tummy. Every so often, when Sara's ample chest fell in time with her breathing, she'd catch a glimpse of the napping cruiser's contended smile. Sara giggled and idly curled 'Laska's long snowy hair between her fingers. She didn't have any children – _yet_ ; she was hoping to change that before too long – but she couldn't help but think of 'Laska as her daughter.

Of course, it didn't hurt that 'Laska did everything in her power to slide into that role.

"You like her, don't you?" Said the oak-and-honey voice of Daniel Stewart. At 'Laska's stern insistence, his head rested on her soft breast. The large cruiser had claimed it was the most comfortable and enjoyable activity anyone could ever experience, but Sara wasn't sure if she was talking to her or Daniel. She couldn't speak for the author, but Sara knew having just the thin gray fabric of her blouse separating her skin from his sent shivers up her keel.

"I do," Sara smiled and tousled 'Laska's snowy tresses. A sleepy giggle wandered through the cruiser's lips and she rolled over to snuggle Sara's softest parts. "Do you blame me?"

Stewart raised his head off Sara's breast for a moment, and a handful of faeries with line-throwing guns hurriedly assembled on the battlecruiser's sternum. "Can't say I do," he said, reaching over to scratch 'Laska behind the ear.

'Laska giggled in her sleep, and her nose tickled at the underside of Sara's massively trunked stacks.

"She's very – ow!" Stewart jerked as a minute harpoon sailed through the lobe of his ear. Sara giggled as a platoon of minute faeries bounced on her sternum with glee, allowing themselves a moment of celebration before hauling Stewart's head back where it belonged.

Sara just patted her chest and smiled.

"My lady," Stewart rolled his eyes and went back to cuddling the massive warship. Even with his head on her breast, his feet barely reached hers. He glanced over to the miniature sailors. "You guys mind?"

After a moment's pause – and a stern look from Sara – the faeries huffed and removed the harpoon. It was easier said than done; Sara's bustline offered a very sheer, very unstable climb to even get close. Many faeries lost their grip and fell back to the giggling battlecruiser's collar.

Sara didn't know how long they lay there, and she didn't really care. Soaking in the sun, watching the clouds pass overhead…it felt peaceful. Right. It didn't help that the man using her breast as a pillow was the one she'd had all those dreams about.

But eventually the silence was broken with the triumphant "Panapakpan~" of the Japanese heavy cruiser Saratoga had learned to love. Maybe not love like a daughter – Atago was far less childish than 'Laska – but love none the less.

"Hello, dear," Sara waved with the hand not occupied with feeling the shape of Stewart's butt.

"Hello, Miss Sara." Atago bowed low from the waist. "This is my sister, Maya."

"Oh," Saratoga glanced over at…at a ship that was most certainly Atago's sister, but in a way that made her brain ache to think about. "Pleasure to meet you, Maya."

"Same," said Maya. "So, um…I heard you've got peacemakers."

"Walkers, actually." Saratoga summoned one of the massive revolvers and spun it grip-first towards the Japanese cruiser.

"Wow," Maya's facade cracked and she cooed like a schoolgirl. "It's so big," she let the gun sit in her hand. "So fucking big…"

"I could take you shooting," Sara idly played with Alaska's snowy hair. She could tell the large cruiser was only pretending to sleep now, probably because looking at Atago and Maya in close proximity would damage her already fragile mind. She glanced over at Stewart with a grin. "Give you two some time together~" she ended with a teasing hitch.

She didn't know how much Stewart was involved, but she'd caught Hamakaze with an operations briefing – signed with 'Laska's trademark chunky cursive – labeled "Operation: Get Mom Laid". Judging by the stifled giggle from 'laska, the large cruiser caught what Sara was insinuating, even if Stewart didn't.

The author smiled the oblivious smile of a man lacking the slightest idea of how thoroughly his loins are owned by another woman-who-is-also-a-warship. "Sure."

"Cameron's bringing his old N64," said Alaska. "You should come." She looked over at him. "He said it's old, but good. Like you."

Stewart chuckled and helped the large cruiser up. "That sounds like fun."

'Laska made her goodbyes to the other warships, and skipped off with her usual rubber-band trot.

—|—|—

Much to Sara's annoyance, Maya took to the massive revolver like it was second nature. She had a little trouble dealing with the prodigious recoil of course, but her small groups were still dead-eye accurate. To the point where it was seriously frustrating for the former carrier.

"I can see why cowboys liked these," Maya twirled the empty gun around her finger and caught it with the heel of her hand. "Very smooth."

"Thank you," Sara returned the gun to its leather home on her hip. "Or rather…thank BuOrds." The battlecruiser blushed. She couldn't believe she'd just said that. And _meant_ it this time.

"Like that's gonna happen," said Maya with a smirk. "Hey, I'm starving. You wanna hit up the mess?"

Sara beamed. She'd been trying to hold in her rumbling gut, but the big battlecruiser's turbo-electric drive burned through oil like…well, like a massive steam-driven power plant. "Very much so, yes." She let her guns vanish with a breath of wind and lead the way.

'Laska and Cameron were in the corner of the mess, huddled around a television. The two had slowly assembled quite the gaming lounge by the simple expedient of sneaking consoles and soft chairs in one at a time over a period of weeks, and making 'Laska do her irresistible large-cruiser-eyes whenever they were questioned. But surprisingly, neither one of them was playing.

Instead, Stewart was in the driver's seat, and he seemed to be doing quite well.

"Oh!" Maya perked right up when she saw what was going on. " _Ocarina of Time_! This game is the best!"

Stewart chuckled. "Used to love it when I was younger," he didn't even look at the misshapen controller as his fingers danced over the buttons with practiced ease. "Never could get past the water temple, though."

Maya howled with laughter and threw herself on a couch, dinner tray balanced preciously on her middle.

Sara, though, was too entranced by the game to even think of eating. Her jaw slowly slackened as she drew nearer, captivated by the bright colors and fascinating gameplay. Her attention was so captured, she didn't even realize her colossal bosom had become a warm, soft hat for Stewart to wear.

He seemed to enjoy it though.

—|—|—

Jersey had forgotten how much she absolutely fucking despised wearing her dinner dress uniform. Her ruffled tuxedo-pleated blouse was too crisp and starched for her to move comfortably in, and even standing perfectly made the fabric annoyingly tight in all the wrong places. The collar was too snug to accommodate Jersey's prodigiously developed neck muscles, and the less said about her triceps the better. And it was fucking _white_ too, which meant Jersey couldn't wear any of her usual antifouling-red bras.

Which would've been okay, if there was a single fucking bra anywhere in the entire goddamn country that actually fit her. The subs had tried their best, but 'fuckhuge amazon' just wasn't a size you could find in short notice. In desperation, she eventually settled for having Hiei bind them down with some white bandages. It looked right under her blouse, but it still bothered the battleship to no end. Not only did she feel the tension every time she took a breath, she'd _just gotten_ her bunkers enlarged.

At least her cropped jacket was worn open, which mitigated some of the problems her objectively and scientifically awesome rack caused. But it was also loaded down with a shockingly huge rack of miniature medals. All that off-center weight was pulling her jacket off balance, making the battleship even more painfully aware of how many decorations she was displaying. Decorations that… in her opinion she hadn't _really_ earned. Yes, she'd been _present_ at the events they commemorated, but it was her crew who actually won them.

She tried to rationalize that she was just promoting her crews' valor to a wider audience, but that explanation rang hollow in her own bridge. Especially now that she was surrounded by so many sailors and soldiers who actually _had_ earned said medals.

Oh, and she was wearing a fucking tiara. Jersey was honestly astonished the goddamn thing was even still regulation. Apparently, the navy agreed with her, there'd been a push to get rid of it, but then the war broke out and the brass had better things to do with their time. Which meant, hidden in the dusty back annex of some half-forgotten regulation manual, the dinner-dress tiara was still on the books. Which would have been fine, except _somehow_ Jane found out and asked Jersey if she'd wear one.

Jersey absolutely fucking despised the idea of parading around in a fucking tiara. Again. But she just couldn't say no to the littlest – for a while yet, at least – Richardson's pleas. If Jane asked her to wear a tiara, Jersey would wear a fucking tiara. Hell, it if was for Mutsu, she'd even fucking _like_ it. Or at least try to hate every second with something less than the full fury she was capable of producing.

At the very least, her outfit wasn't nearly as humiliatingly salacious as the goddamn tits-out thigh-high rig she wore during the war. She…would admit she picked the braless scoop-neck gown in the hopes that an 'ill timed' nipple slip might shock Admiral Halsey into directing his undying love towards _her_ instead of Enterprise – or at least making him acknowledge her presence. But how in the flying fuck had she _ever_ thought garter-belted thigh-highs and a dress slit up to her ribs was a good idea?

Jersey scowled and swirled the last dregs of strawberry punch around in her plastic cup. It might be delicious, but it as fucking hard to brood while sipping something so pink Jersey couldn't even find a meaningful comparison. "It this seriously the manliest shit you have?"

A miniature simulacrum of battleship Mutsu, one that lacked the bigger version's flowing curves and noticeably pregnant belly, but made up for it with adorably squished proportions, glanced up from the tiny paddle board she'd been rowing around the punch bowl in. "Muu~" she said.

Jersey narrowed her eyes. "Are you _sure_?" She idly flicked at a bunch of cranberries floating in the sickeningly pink punch bowl.

"Mu!" Minimu crossed her stumpy arms with resolution.

Jersey scowled. "You and I need to have a discussion about what manly drinks are."

"Muuuu~"

"Don't sass me," Jersey poked Minimu in her little tummy, sending the little battleship tumbling to her tush as her raft glided lazily backwards. She was going to add another cutting retort, when she noticed something. The ripples from Minimu's raft had dislodged a clump of cranberries, but something that _had_ been hiding among the clutter hadn't moved at all.

It looked… almost like a very small periscope. In fact, it looked exactly like a very small periscope. An exact duplicate of the ones fleet boats carried during the war. Jersey smiled, and a quick run of her tongue along her teeth confirmed that every last one had turned into a gleaming razor-sharp canine. "Ssh." She sushed Minimu and quietly fished a cranberry out of her own cup.

The small battleship glanced from Jersey to the periscope and nodded.

The bigger battleship carefully maneuvered her gloved hand with the delicacy of a brain surgeon. She craned her neck to make sure her aim was true, then let the berry fall with a quiet 'plop.'

The periscope hastily cranked underwater with a comical pop, and its owner crash-dove for the pinkish depths. Which would have worked better if the punch bowl wasn't punch-bowl sized and made of glass. A second later, a tiny figure in a white-on-gray swimsuit and punch-logged pants that looked like the'd been stolen from a doll house slammed into the glass with a quiet 'tink.'

"Fucking submarines," Jersey scowled. "Hey," she tapped a finger against the glass to get the sub's attention.

The sub froze, slowly drifting place without moving a muscle. Even her small chest was still as the grave as she rigged for silent running.

"I can _see_ you, you little shit," said Jersey.

The submarine sighed, and slumped her little shoulders.

"Jane know you're around?"

The submarine shook her head.

"Want to keep it that way?"

"Mu!" Protested Minimu.

"You," Jersey shifted her gaze to the small battleship. "Stay out of this."

"Muuu…"

The submarine nodded.

"Can you make it worth my while?" said Jersey with a smirk.

The submarine thought for a moment, then nodded and pressed a very small bottle against the punchbowl glass. It was too small for Jersey to read any of the soggy label's writing, but the contents were good and amber, which was enough for her.

"Hand it over," said Jersey.

The submarine nodded, and shallowed out. She didn't quite surface though, only her outstretched hand and her deliciously amber gift broached the surface.

Jersey smiled and plucked the thumbnail-sized bottle from the little sub's hand. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Mu~"

"That's not relevant," Jersey bit the top off and spiked her drink as thoroughly as the minute bottle would allow. It wasn't much, but… But over there was that army LTC who'd escorted Kongo off the stage. She forgot his name, but given that he looked like every dad from every sitcom she'd ever watched, she mentally assigned his contact the name 'Colonel Dad.' More importantly, he was drinking what was clearly a bottled beer. "Mu, what the fuck?"

"Muu~"

"How is that!" Jersey scowled. Mutsu's miniature version had all the real deal's skill with the spoken word. If she was honest, the little battleship's argument _was_ totally logically sound. She just didn't like it. "I hate you."

"Muuuuu."

Jersey rolled her eyes and set a course for beer. It Minimu wasn't going to cooperate, maybe she could count on the Army to…to…coopera…fuck, she almost made it through that sentence without giggling. She bit her lip and forced an easy cool back into her powerful stride.

"Colonel," she nodded at the big man leaning against a silver-draped cocktail table. For a moment, she did the same. But the instant her arms touched the small surface, a shriek of buckling metal tore through the hall as her immense weight brought the poor thing well beyond its limits. She jerked back with a stuttering cough before the damage was permanent, but only just.

"Commander," the Lieutenant Colonel smiled at Jersey. Then a moment later, he glanced at her bright pink drink and smiled again. "I'm surprised, figured you as more of a beer girl."

Jersey scowled at her painfully girly drink. It was like someone shoved Naka into a blender and added more glitter. "I…am actually, I just have a very small battleship I need to fucking murder."

The colonel chuckled. "Say no more, Navy. I'll be right back."

Jersey nodded at him and tossed back her drink as angrily as possible. Which was _really_ hard considering how frilly it was.

"Oh," As if summoned from the depths of hell itself, Naka came bouncing over with a smirk on her perfectly made-up face. "Hello, Jersey-chan."

"Go fuck yourself with a rusty chainsaw," said Jersey without missing a beat.

"Glad to know you're having fun," Naka beamed and leaned in for a brief kiss to Jersey's cheek.

Jersey rolled her eyes. "Hey, good work with the livestream."

"Thanks," Naka somehow curtsied in her micro-skirted traffic-cone dress. "Anyway, I'm gonna mingle."

"You do that," Jersey rolled her eyes and chuckled to herself. As Naka bounced off to be annoyingly Japanese somewhere else, the battleship was left alone with her drink and thoughts. Her icy blue eyes lazily perused the crowd. Mutsu and Richardson were at one end of the hall, greeting well-wishers while a cluster of destroyers huddled around the pregnant battleship's middle. The Taffies were behaving themselves for once, which was nice. Shinano was…apparently off hiding somewhere, because Jersey couldn't see the littlest Yamato anywhere.

And there was a woman in the crowd who Jersey couldn't stop looking at. A woman who radiated levels of smug that shouldn't be humanly possible to attain.

"Here ya go, Navy." Jersey's concentration was broken by the return of the Colonel. And also, by the beer he brought with him. She absentmindedly tore the cap off with her teeth and took a long drink. Not the best she'd ever had, but certainly better than that girly-ass shit Minimu was serving.

"Army," Jersey raised her bottle and tapped it against his with a ring of frosty glass. "That's your wife, right?"

The Colonel chuckled. "Who, the hot one?"

Jersey nodded. "Lucky man."

"You don't even know."

The battleship scoffed. "So… she's human, right?"

The Colonel apparently found that very funny. He almost choked on his drink before responding. "Yeah, human."

"Okay," Jersey sighed, and tried to figure how she'd phrase her next question. "If she's not a boat…" She lazily drew circles with the base of her bottle, "Why does she have pagodas?"

The colonel's response was to spit a mouthful of beer all over the tablecloth and howl with laughter.

—|—|—

Uploader's Note: Sorry for being late. I've been beta reading, writing, and binging anime. You know you have writers block when you scrap a 7k word chapter 4 times!


	10. Chapter 10: Abyssal of the Reich

It was well past sundown when aircraft carrier Akron pulled into New Orleans. Her patrol had been as boring as usual, but thankfully one of the techs back home had figured out a way to tie her iPod into her electrical system so the battery hadn't run down like last time. She was still happily listening to her latest pop-hits playlist – courtesy of the kitty-ear headphones Elly and the girls had gotten her last Christmas – when she lighted on the grassy courtyard.

The big carrier took a moment to steady herself. The breeze coming off the water was gentle and constant, but she always took a while to get her feet back under her after days in the sky. She yawned, her ears – both her the girlish ones on the sides of her head and the tabby kitty ones on top – popping as she acclimatized to the soupy sea-level air. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her pump arms, pulling her leather flying jacket taunt over her vast – but featherweight – bosom.

With a sigh, the airship smiled and idly pawed at her belly. Her appetite would never even approach the limitless gluttony of even the smaller surface ships – although she tended to be far pickier about what she put into her stomach than them – but she was still hungry. A quiet gurgle was all the urging she needed to set course for the mess hall.

Nobody disturbed her on her journey, which didn't surprise her. There were a few Marines still up standing watch, but anyone who didn't have a job to do was probably asleep by now. Akron didn't mind; she was used to being all alone over the Gulf. The airship trimmed her buoyancy a bit, taking all but the last scrap of weight off her heels. Walking everywhere was such a chore, she never understood how the surface ships could tolerate it.

A few moments later, the big carrier glided silently into the mess hall. Even this time of night, there was a full buffet on display for any hungry shipgirl needing to indulge in a little gluttonous feasting. But Akron wasn't your average ship, and the slop on offer – while unquestionably tasty – was so rich and fattening just looking at it turned the airship's delicate stomach.

With blushing apologies, Akron collected a plate and gingerly picked out the healthiest stuff she could find. After quite a lot of work, she'd assembled a mixed-greens salad with sliced tomatoes and an ice-cold coke. She was careful to make sure it was _proper_ Coca-Cola though, with real sugar. Her delicate aviation-engines couldn't tolerate corn-syrup like an oil-fired boiler.

At last she had her meal – meager though it was by shipgirl standards. The airship rolled onto her back, resting her plate on her belly as she lazily costed nowhere in particular. She was two bites into her dinner when she noticed someone else had gotten peck-ish in the night. She must've been too busy building her salad to notice the newcomer's arrival.

"Hello," Akron waved in the newcomer's general direction and set her rudders for an intercept course. The newcomer waved back with a kind smile. She was a surface ship, judging by her immense plate load of buttered toast and generally boat-shaped figure. An exceptionally busty one at that, although unlike Akron, this girl's breasts actually obeyed the laws of gravity, at least to some minor extent.

"Akron, I assume?" said the gentle-faced girl with a smile. A slim pair of reading glasses were perched on her equally slim nose, and her hair was done back in a lazy ponytail secured by a thick black scrunchy. She probably couldn't sleep, given that she was in her pajamas.

"Mmm," Akron nodded and placed her tray on the table. She liked to eat while floating, but she was usually eating alone. "I don't…" She squinted. "Sara?"

The former carrier nodded.

Akron's ears twitched questioningly. "Um…you look good."

Sara blushed and bit her lip. "You…could say. I'm a battlecruiser now."

"Oh," Akron nudged. "That explained the big rifles."

"No, I always had those."

Akron blinked.

Sara snickered to herself. "I'm sorry, it's late."

Akron shrugged and picked out a particularly tasty looking bit of kale. "Couldn't sleep?"

Sara made a show of inspecting her pajama-clad figure. "What gave it away?"

Akron giggled. "Can I ask why?" She said. "Is it boy trouble? Are you pregnant?"

Sara smiled and idly pushed a loose strand of hair behind her petite ear. "Of course you…wait…what?"

"You know, pregnant!" Akron giggled. "When a ship and her admiral love each other very much…" she trailed off. Partly because Sara was already turning beet red, but mostly because Akron didn't have a clue what happened next. Oh, she knew what would happen next if both parties involved were people, but when one of them was a warship…who knows? Storks could be involved.

"What makes you think that!" demanded Sara, but the little smirk she was wearing couldn't quite be displaced.

"You and Stewart are so cute!" Said Akron, "All the girls back east are rooting for you."

"Well…" Sara blushed, clearly unable to come up with any reply to that.

"So," Akron peeked over her Coke at the book Sara was writing. The airship considered herself quite adept at reading upside-down writing – mostly so she could still read during stiff breezes – but whatever Sara was reading was written in _really tiny letters._ Akron disliked small letters. "Whatcha reading?"

"Summoning Reports," Sara spread out a few folders, revealing that she actually had several of the finely-lettered documents to peruse. "Every ship that's come back has filed one."

"And?" Akron lazily sipped her drink.

"So far – if we abandon Texas as an obvious outlier – New Jersey's has been the most explicit." The former carrier chuckled. "And I _do_ mean explicit."

Akron chuckled. She'd read a few of Jersey's reports – and had promptly sworn never to allow the destroyers to know of their existence.

"I'm trying to get some…context for what I remember," said Sara. "It's just…shadows, really. Not as vivid Jersey's, like everyone else." She sighed, idly chewing on the end of her pencil. "But…I can't shake the feeling that there was someone in command down there."

"Deep Six?" asked Akron. The mystical admiral of the deep had many names, but Akron liked that one the most.

"Mmm," Sara nodded. "Davy Jones, if you want to be poetic."

"Nah, those movies sucked." Akron would sometimes watch movies on her iPod while on patrol. She _used_ to solicit recommendations, but them someone tricked her into bringing the second and third _Pirates_ movies, the _Star Wars_ prequels, _Catwoman_ , and _Battlefield Earth._

Sara blinked, but continued onward like nothing had happened. "Whatever you want to call him, he was in charge down there, and he let me go…as a battlecruiser."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" asked Akron.

"That's the thing…I…" Sara shook her head. "I don't remember any of this, but I _know_ it, if that makes sense."

Akron nodded. She couldn't explain it either, and she doubted any human would ever be able to really understand how a shipgirl remembered her summoning, but she knew the utter certainty that Sara was talking about.

"Right," Sara nodded. "He let me come back as a battlecruiser because he couldn't let me be a carrier." She shook her head. "Not _wouldn't_ , _couldn't._ It was like he wanted to, but…someone stayed his hand."

Akron screwed up her face. "That…that doesn't make any sense."

"I know," Sara sighed. "And the more I read…it just doesn't make sense."

"Maybe you should take a break?" the airship shrugged. "Let your mind wander for a bit, maybe you'll stumble on something you'd never have thought of."

"I…" Sara glanced at her pile of documents. "I guess that'll work."

Akron leaned over and slowly closed the manila folder, then flipped it over and put it out of sight. "Better?"

Sara took a long breath. "Better."

Akron smiled.

"Akron," Sara blushed. "Um…I've been wondering…"

"Hmm?"

"Your ears…"

Akron smiled and obligingly presented her head for petting. Sara didn't hesitate to start. Before long, the mess hall was filled with the sound of gentle airship purring.

* * * * *

"Enjoying yourself?" queried Hiei as she took a seat next to Arizona. She tilted back a bottle of beer and took a healthy swig of the dark liquid.

"Mmm." Arizona sipped at her wine before giving her friend a proper reply. "I am. The wedding was beautiful. The atmosphere is pleasant. And everyone looks so happy that I'd be hard pressed to not be having a good time."

Hiei smiled and swirled her drink.

"I don't see you mingling, though. And I thought you'd have a line out the door of strapping young lads and ladies wanting to chat. Or try to dance the night away with." She grinned when Arizona rolled her eyes. Mutsu was having fun with John, well-wishers, and a mountain of destroyers, so it was on her to tease and torment the Standard.

She'd do it even if Mutsu wasn't busy, but this just gave her another excuse. Besides, it was fun. It was hard to complete with Mutsu though. She was just so good at it. Almost too good, honestly.

"I had the required dance with my escort before I threw him to the Wolf." She set down her nearly empty glass and tapped the rim lightly.

"Wolf?" Hiei paused. Shouldn't that be wolves? The Americanism was plural, right? There were a lot of single shipgirls out there anyways. The cruisers especially we – oh. Oh. "Ohhh ho ho~ Ari, you devil."

"…Wh-what?" Replied Arizona defensively.

"Do you have any idea what you did?" She scooted up next to Arizona and put an arm around her shoulder. This was too good. Far too good. She pointed into the crowd. "The Hungry Wolf of Yokosuka has been trying since the day she was summoned to find love. Trying and failing. She hasn't even been able to get a date."

They might be at war, but that shouldn't have to stop anyone from finding some joy. They'd just been part of a wedding between an admiral and a battleship who was also very much pregnant, after all.

"I fail to see how my actions are so special. He was plainly interested in her and she was looking at him like he was a slab of meat." Arizona huffed. There was a mix of amusement and her usual grumpiness in her voice, which only made Hiei's grin grow.

"I don't think you realize just how starved for romantic affection she is." Ashigara had friends and family, but her fortune with anything that involved love was firmly in the negatives.

"Then let them dance, be happy, and hope they can make something of it. There is no need to make a spectacle of it." She waved her hand dismissively, but Hiei could easily make out the smile trying to make itself seen.

"If Ashigara lets this slip through her fingers, she might lose her mind. Just look at her!"

Hiei hadn't seen the Wolf this happy in a very long time. She was a naturally outgoing and energetic woman, but the laughter on her face was on a whole new level. If Mutsu was seeing this, then she was no doubt grinning from ear to ear. Weddings were all sorts of fun.

…Wait a minute.

Oh, dammit.

Really? Was the universe really going to go to such lengths? Let the poor woman have a break.

Hiei's head fell again Arizona's shoulder and she groaned.

"Hiei? What's wrong?"

"Ashigara is on the patrol roster." Hiei set her bottle back onto the table. Well, at least this was better than usual.

"Oh…but they should still have some time before deployment, correct? Surely there's enough left in her evening for some more memories." Arizona reached into the breast pocket of her dress uniform and withdrew a golden pocket watch. It popped open with an audible click. She frowned a moment after reading the time. "I suppose not."

"Think we should intervene?" Hiei was so very tempted to do so. Not only because the battle hungry cruiser really needed a break, but also because she was a Kongo. Love powered her boilers just as a potent head of steam did. She just wasn't as vocal about it. Not in public, anyway.

"What do you propose?" Asked Arizona as she put away her watch. "There is no changing her deployment. We're only being allowed as much freedom as we are because we are part of the wedding."

"Nothing that drastic. A kick in the pants to make sure they exchange numbers or something. Knowing her, she's on cloud nine just having the chance to dance with someone and not even thinking about how to get ahold of the guy later." She snickered and sat up. "Her head's probably full of her own imaginary wedding right now."

"I think we could do that for her."

"I knew I could count on you." She clapped Arizona's shoulder. The prude of prudes the American might be, but her heart was in the right place.

Arizona simply gave another huff and stood from her seat.

"We don't have much time, so let's hurry."

"Shouldn't that be my line, Lag-wagon?" Teased Hiei as she fell into step alongside Arizona.

"Wha–where?! Where did you hear that name?" Demanded Arizona.

"From your other daughter. The speedboat." She shrugged with false disappointment. "Did you really think the entire base wouldn't know about a nickname a destroyer gives someone? Especially one like Shimakaze?"

"I do wish she wouldn't. Prudeboat is bad enough, thank you very much." Arizona pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation.

Hiei simply laughed while they maneuvered through the dancing crowds. She made a note that Ari hadn't denied Shimakaze being her little girl at all. It was an arrangement she wouldn't have ever imagined, but there was no way she'd complain about it. It was good for both of them.

And both ensured Jane had more siblings while giving even more avenues to harass the Standard. Very important things in the grand scheme of things. Without question.

She was quite happy to see everyone having a good time as they walked by. Some more than others and some in ways that didn't really involve dancing.

Hoel was regaling Hatsuzuki with tales of some sort of supreme God-Donut. A pastry to rule all others. It did sound incredibly tasty, but they had a job to do. She had to give Ari a bit of a shove to keep her moving past the destroyers.

She very nearly choked on a laugh when she caught sight of Chikuma and the impossibly stacked non-shipgirl haul away that Army guy who had been chatting with Jersey earlier. The scene in and of itself wasn't all too eye catching, but the fact he was being dragged out by his feet made it impossible to ignore. And it was really damn funny, too.

"Someone's in for a wild night. Hope he doesn't break anything."

"Pardon?"

"Oh, nothing. Just watched Chikuma drag someone out of the room." She turned her attention back to navigating herself and Arizona towards their intended destination. This place was more packed than she realized. It didn't help that their targets were slowly drifting away.

"The less I am aware of her inclinations, the better off I will be." Arizona stated flatly as they passed Naka's cameraman awkwardly trying to strike up a conversation with Nagato and failing terribly.

"Oh, there are plenty worse things she could be do-!"

Hiei dodged out of the way as a pair of little boys came barreling through the masses, heedless of where they were going.

"Hey, be careful!" She hollered at their retreating forms. Yeesh. Kids these days. At least her daughter put forth some effort to behave in public. Jane didn't always succeed, but the effort was there.

"This…could pose a problem." Arizona's voice held a tone of concern that made the hair on the back of Hiei's neck stand on edge.

"Please tell me this is a 'hahaha' kind of problem and not a 'general quarters' kind of problem." She was really hoping for the former. And as she laid eyes on the scene Arizona was bearing witness to, she mentally swore. "…a Pennsylvania kind of problem."

"She did so well at the wedding…"

Hiei sighed.

"Let's calm them down before someone gets hurt. We're already drawing an audience."

"I agree." Arizona took a step forward and almost immediately stopped.

"Please. Just…ten! Ten more minutes. Five, even!" Ashigara pleaded just short of shamelessly. Never before had anyone seen her so desperate. Her pride was little more than a memory. "Victory is so close. I can't let it slip through my fingers again! I have lost time and again. Please don't let me miss this chance."

Pennsylvania crossed her arms and glowered up at the heavy cruiser while Hunter looked on in a plain display of bewilderment.

"No. We have patrol. You drew the night shift, so suck it up and do your duty, sailor. Everyone else is, so there's no good reason for you to be the sole exception." Pennsylvania's crimson eyes narrowed in poorly veiled displeasure. "I will gladly force your compliance."

"One minute?"

Hiei palmed her face while Arizona did likewise. The sonarman really should have kept his mouth shut.

Pennsylvania turned her ire laden gaze towards Ashigara's date. He seemed to flinch, but did not fall to pieces. Hiei would at least give him that.

"Please, ma'am?"

The surrounding guests watched with baited breath as Pennsylvania turned back to the despairing wolf, ignoring the young man's request. Her gaze was merciless and her posture steadfast.

"We're leaving."

"Pl-eeeahowa?!" Ashigara's final attempt at bargaining was cut off thanks to Pennsylvania taking the matter into her own hands.

Hiei couldn't help herself and let a snort of laughter break the stunned silence. A laugh that continued to grow. Someone had better be filming this. She would never forgive the world if they weren't.

Her mirth caused the dam to burst as more and more onlookers broke into laughter and barely constrained chuckles. Arizona looked torn between joining them and giving in to a mild case of shock. She finally cracked when Hiei began using her shoulder for support.

"P-p-put me down!"

"I refuse." Pennsylvania stated mirthlessly.

"James, please. Help! Our happy ending!"

But the sailor was rooted to the spot along with many others as they witnessed Ashigara being carted away, held over Pennsylvania's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She was only saved further humiliation thanks to her skirt not riding up to show off her aft to everyone with a set of functioning eyeballs in the vicinity.

"Jaaaames-!"

Hiei stifled her amusement just enough to allow herself the ability to form coherent sentences and approached the dumbstruck man. He seemed to return to reality after she snapped her fingers in front of his face a few times.

"That…really just happened?"

"Yep." She put an arm around the young sailor and gave him a playful punch to the jaw. "You'll have another chance. You did get her number right?"

His horrified silence was damning.

Hiei shook her head in disapproval as Arizona walked over and the crowd returned to their previous milling, dancing, and gossiping.

"I will wager he didn't get her number and Ashigara's curse remains?" She rubbed her temples as Hiei shook her head in the negative. "Mr. Hunter, I do apologize for my sister. But you should have struck while the iron was hot. You knew she was going to be deployed."

"Do you have to rub salt in the wound?" The sonarman groaned.

Arizona nodded.

"Harsh, Ari. Harsh." Hiei chuckled and released Hunter. "Just track her down when she gets back. Pull some strings. Bribe a politician or two. Get Oyodo some rare coffee. Something's bound to work. You're a submariner. Hunting is what you do."

"I…don't suppose either of you have a way of getting ahold of her that you're willing to share?"

"Nope. Not gonna make it easy on either of you after that little display." Hiei laughed with a sliver of fake wickedness in her voice. Oh, this night was just too much fun in all sorts of ways. But now she had to have some fun at someone else's expense. Someone who deserved it like no one else. "Take care, Mr. Hunter. Come on Ari. I have to do something very, very important~"

Arizona only had a brief chance to bid Hunter farewell before being dragged off into the crowd.

"What madness has taken you now?"

"I'm John's best friend, Best Man, and a whole lot of things. And it's my job to make sure he's incredibly happy with Mutsu and embarrass him at the same time." And this one would be one for the history books. She could see his reaction coming miles away.

"Hiei. This is his wedding day. One of the most important days in his and Mutsu's lives. What are you planning?" Arizona sounded genuinely worried. That was good. But not really needed. "Hiei?"

"You'll see." She grinned mischievously. If ever there was a doubt that she was a Kongo, she would just need to show that grin. Her best Kongo-class grin that only she and her sisters could pull off. An expression that promised mischief, mayhem, love, and reality-breaking shenanigans. "And Mutsu approved~"

"Please leave those of us with sanity out of this." Pleaded Arizona, despite not trying to fight off Hiei's grip in the slightest.

"You're part of the family, so you're stuck with us."

"Lord save me."

"I don't think His subordinate is available at the moment." Hiei released Arizona as they approached the table where the happily wedded couple were chatting with Jintsu and a division of destroyers. Her grin widened when John caught sight of her and froze. He knew what this look meant. Or didn't mean. They might know each other better than anyone else in the world, but not even he could fully discern a Kongo.

Mutsu gave her a wink and a smile. An action that made John pale. Mission start.

She straightened her suit jacket and snapped a salute that was crisper than anything she'd delivered in a very, very long time. All while wearing that smile. Her poise almost cracked when John slowly returned the salute. As if he wasn't quite sure how to use his hand anymore.

"Admiral John Richardson." She began, ignoring the crowd now gathering. If they thought Ashigara's misfortune was a spectacle, well… "I hereby announce my intention to do two things. The first is to congratulate you on your marriage to Mutsu Richardson. I wish you all the happiness and joy in the world."

"…And the second?"

"To embarrass the living daylights out of you." Her green eyes flashed as Mutsu gestured for the destroyers and Jintsu to stand clear. "Now pucker up, John!"

And then Hiei pounced.

* * * * *

"Sorry, what?" Heavy cruiser Maya blinked as her mind was suddenly wrenched from the lazily-orbiting float plane she'd thrown up an hour ago and back to her very surface-bound hull. Someone – Sendai, probably – had just said something to her, but she'd been too spaced-out to hear anything about the question beyond its existence. That in itself leant further credence to the 'Sendai did it' camp, as Maya had gotten very good at tuning out the impossibly loud traffic cone.

It wasn't even that she didn't _like_ Sendai, she did. She even considered the neon orange ninja to be her best friend. Most of the other girls were too demure and…well, _girlish_ for Maya's taste. But that didn't mean Sendai's constant bombast wasn't annoying sometimes.

"Maya-sama," Sendai made a show out of drawing out the honorific. Maya just rolled her eyes and adjusted her gloves. "You really need to learn to pay attention to things."

"Oh, but I do." Maya shifted the balance of her attention to her floatplane, keeping just enough on the surface to properly engage in a battle of wits with her best seagoing friend. "I pay attention to the _important_ things. Why do you think I tune you out?"

Sendai huffed. It was hard to take her seriously when she pouted like that, not least because of how much shorter she was than the flagrantly treaty-defying Takao-class. "Well –"

"And let's face it," said Maya. "You're so stealthy you're easy to overlook."

Sendai's pout morphed into an odd combination of pride, frustration, and then more pride. Pride that her vaunted skills at SNEAK ATTACK had been complimented. Frustration that she couldn't turn that around on Maya without making it a self-diss. And then pride again that Maya had gotten so good at bants. "The student has become the master!"

"That from something?" Maya glanced in the light cruiser's general direction, but her eyes were a cloudy silver with her attention focused on her plane. She knew Sendai hated that.

Sendai's long gloved hand met her face with a quiet _pomf_. "Maya…if we ever get back to Sasebo, Jintsu is _making_ you watch _Star Wars._ "

"Psh!" Maya threw out her chest and let a hearty laugh rumble out from her boilers. "Like the quietest traffic cone could do a thing to _Maya-sama~_!"

"You don't know," said Sendai with uncharacteristic fear. "She's got an Admiral wrapped around her little finger."

"Really?" Maya gave the littler cruiser a sideways glance. "Last I heard he was pining for Mutsu's ample upperworks."

"That's what I was trying to _tell_ you, Maya-Baka!" Sendai huffed like a beleaguered schoolteacher forced to wrangle a field trip of third graders, all of whom had consumed close to their own body weight in pure uncut cocaine. "Mutsu and Richardson got hitched!"

"Damn, I missed it," said Maya with utter ambivalence. She didn't so much detest girlish stuff as…well, she found it trying. It was half the reason her friendship with her sisters was distant at best. She liked Takao and all, Chokai was sweet when she wasn't being weird, and she was pretty sure nobody could dislike Atago.

But she'd _much_ rather play _Call of Duty_ in her Cheeto-stained underwear with Sendai for twenty-nine consecutive hours than go to some wedding. Being girlish just wasn't in her design, and formal wear clashed with her brash persona.

"C'mon, it'd be cute." Sendai giggled and swished her flowing scarf over her shoulder. She loved that scarf, and bragged to all the destroyers that she'd found it floating among the wreckage of an Abyssal battleship she'd defeated in an epic three-day night battle while patrolling up above the Arctic Circle. Which, Maya supposed, was a better story than picking it up during a beer-run to Walmart because she didn't want to look like an alcoholic.

"It's _Japan_ ," said Maya. "All they'd have is sake. _Maybe._ " She didn't mind sake – as long as there was enough of it to get her properly buzzed – but it just didn't compare to a good Long Island Iced tea.

"You know Mutsu's got two on the slips?"

"I'm a cruiser," said Maya, "Of course I, the fuck, know!"

For a moment, the two warships stared at each other.

"Yeah…that doesn't really work," Maya shuddered. English had such a plethora of profanity for her to use, but the cruiser was still a novice at the art of obscene grammar.

"Not really, no." Sendai shrugged.

Maya sighed. "She'd be a couple months along by the time we reach Sasebo, won't she?"

"Mmm, at least," said Sendai. "Word is she and her admiral got to fucking…pretty much as soon as he admitted he liked her."

"Mutsu's a mommy…" Maya giggled at the mental image of proud, strong Mutsu tottering around with a bowling ball in her belly. Only for the image to quickly shift to her own figure doing the pregnancy-induced waddle. And then the cruiser noticed she was resting her own hand on her middle. She blushed and hastily moved her hand to her hip. "Wash is too, isn't she?"

"Mmm," said Sendai. "And Gale."

"Gale made Warrant, didn't she?"

Sendai nodded.

"Good for her," said the heavy cruiser. "She deserved something for all the suffering Kirishima put her through."

"You know 'shima's sidling up to Crowning now, right?" said Sendai.

"I thought he was still with Jersey." Maya sighed. Keeping track of everyone's relationships was never her strong suit. But it beat talking about what she was most certainly not doing with her hand and/or fantasizing about.

"Dude," Sendai rolled her eyes. "They broke up…like…months ago."

"I still say she's a riverboat."

"Stop saying that," said Sendai. "It's not going to catch on."

Maya flipped both pointer fingers at Sendai. A moment later she hastily switched to her middle fingers.

Sendai rolled her eyes again. "Poor girl, though."

"Who, Jersey?"

"Yeah," said Sendai. "She doesn't deserve to be alone."

Maya howled with laughter. "Jersey? Forever alone? Have you _seen_ her aft?"

Sendai buried her nose in her scarf. "Okay, point." After a moment's pause she continued. "Think 'laska and Cameron are gonna make babies?"

Maya shrugged. "Nah. Least not for a while."

"But they love each other so much!"

"Exactly!" Maya waved her hand at the smaller cruiser in a dismissive way. "He's bow over screws for her. If he hasn't railed her until she can't even float _yet_ , he's not gonna until they tie the knot."

"That's going to be one epic honeymoon," said Sendai with a lascivious giggle.

"I feel bad for her poor shaft galleries."

"Her?" Sendai laughed. "I feel bad for his pelvis. You _know_ how Americans are with Dam-con."

"Yeah, well –"

"Speaking of Americans," Sendai's smile turned venomous.

"Sendai, no."

"How's Garrett?"

Maya scowled. "He's fine." Honestly, she wasn't sure why Sendai even needed to ask. Their quarters stateside weren't that big to begin with, and the light cruiser had never let a little thing like Maya and her boyfriend spending hours as a temple of carnal lust displace her from her Mario cart time trials. It was honestly unnerving how well Garrett and Sendai could hold a casual conversation while he was hips-deep in her bilges.

"You two gonna try for a little one?" Sendai teased.

Maya abruptly realized she was cradling her middle again and scowled. "Sendai," she ignored her blush, "Do you know how I know it's impossible to hate someone out of existence?"

Sendai rolled her eyes.

"You still exist," said Maya. "That's why."

—|—|—

The Raider Princess smiled as warm tropical air filled her ashy lungs. Her breasts swelled against the pebbly, face-hardened surface of her turtleback bustier, and she closed her burning electric blue eyes for just a moment. Her proud bow cut through the azure water while her tipple screws churned the calm sea into an icy gray froth. In her life, pointless and short as it had been, she'd never experienced truly _being_ at sea.

She'd spent months working up and training, toning every muscle and fiber of her lithe body into the instrument of Aryan perfection she knew she was born to be. She was the fastest, most powerful battleship the world had ever seen.

She _should_ have drained her foes white with fear as she painted the oceans red with the blood of their shipping. Should have punished their insolence and deprived their soggy island of its lifelines one by one, until hunger drove men to madness and women to eat their own children. Should have _laughed_ as their hunger drove them to such desperation they _begged_ to be annexed into the Reich.

It should have been hers. It should have all been hers. But the cruel strings of fate tore it all from her talons. What should have been a campaign of terror on the high seas that would stand in triumphant supremacy for generations was nine pointless days accomplishing nothing.

She'd been hounded across the frigid Atlantic, driven like the hapless merchants that were supposed to be her pray. _She_ was the hunted!

Not anymore.

The Princess opened her eyes once more, taking in the sight of unblemished ocean extending in every direction as far as she could sea. The ocean was hers now. There were no cruisers shadowing her in the fog, no carriers scrambling to lay a trap for her… There was only her primal instinct: _hunt and kill._

She licked her lips and idly ran her tongue across the razor-sharp obsidian shards lining her pallid gums. The thrill of the hunt coursed through her calcified veins and fueled her howling, ravenous boilers.

By her side, her demons cruised in tight formation. They were simple things, hunting dogs to drive her prey under the punishing gaze of her rifles. Their faces were featureless masks of gray skin stretched taunt over smooth, sun-bleached bone. A twisted maw of crooked incisors constantly oozing bloody oil was the only disturbance to their otherwise unadorned visages, and their eyeless gaze stared impassively at the horizon.

But the Princess knew. They were _her_ demons. Birthed from her own frigid womb, suckled at her own icy breast. She could sense the thrill of the hunt coursing through them, burning like wildfire deep inside their armored bosoms.

"Soon," the Princess planted her gauntleted hands on her hips and let her talons sink into the stiff fabric of her greatcoat. "Soon you will have sisters, my demons."

As if on cue, the reconnaissance plane she'd launched hours ago signaled for her attention. The Princess closed her eyes and looked through those of her airborne spotter. It took her barely a second to get her bearings, and a second more to spot what her spotter had been so eager to alert her of.

A smile crossed her stony face as her turbines built up to flank. She would _feast_ tonight.

—|—|—


	11. Chapter 11: A Night (Battle) to Remember

"It's a beautiful evening, isn't it?" Sendai smiled into the setting sun, her cheeks all but glowing in the warm purple-orange dusk. Her long silk scarf billowed behind her as the wind raced across the shimmering sapphire waters of the south pacific.

"Don't say it," A few hundred yards ahead of her, Maya had to fight down a scowl.

Sendai ignored her friend. "A cool breeze, nice warm water," she sighed, her chest puffing out as she took a deep breath of the sweet winter air.

"If you say it, I'll hurt you."

"And not even a cloud in the sky!" Sendai tossed the streaming end of her scarf around her neck with a sly grin.

"Sendai –"

"The perfect weather," Sendai giggled.

"Dammit, Sendai, no."

"For –"

"Don't say it!"

"Yasen!" Sendai threw her fist out with a flourish, her other arm holding an imaginary katana behind her.

Maya shot the light cruiser a look that could sink a battleship. Her sea-green tank-top showed off the sinewy muscle of her arms, and at the moment, all that sinew was tensed and ready for combat. "I will hurt you," she drawled.

Sendai rolled her eyes, "Like you would, you big softy."

"I hate you _so fucking much_ ," said Maya. "If I was in a room with you, Hitler, and Stalin, do you know what I'd do?"

"Shoot me twice?" asked Sendai. "I watched _The Office_ too you know."

"No," said Maya. "No, no, no, no…see, I'd shoot each of them twice. Then I'd shove the still hot –" The cruiser abruptly stopped, like her voice had slammed into a brick wall.

"What?" Sendai noticed the change in her friend's demeanor, and instantly dropped the teasing act. Her posture stiffened, then relaxed again into a tightly coiled ready stance.

"E13A," was Maya's only response. The lion's share of her attention was focused on her little reconnaissance floatplane, with only enough to keep formation with the flotilla of freighters under her protection remaining on the surface. "We're being shadowed."

"Shadowed?" said Sendai with guarded cautiousness. "Or –"

"Scratch that," said Maya. "They're going fast. Running us down."

"Shit," Sendai cursed under her breath. "What? What's the fleet?"

"Bismarck," said Maya with utter certainty. She didn't know how she knew, but there wasn't a shred of doubt in her mind as her crew cleared for action. "And…two Scharns."

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiit," Sendai hissed. "That's what…thirty knots?"

"Maybe if we run for Pearl…" Maya's voice was as distant as her gaze.

"At thirty knots they'll still catch us," said Sendai. "We'd need…another day, day and a half just to get under their air umbrella."

For a moment, the heavy cruiser was silent. Then she stiffened her spine, held her chin high, and straightened the knot on her neckerchief. "Sendai," her voice sounded calm, but Sendai knew the Takao well enough to pick out the faint notes of strain holding it all together, "If we extend towards Pearl at flank, we can delay engagement until after sundown."

Sendai nodded. "Yeah…guess we could." She blinked. "Wait, you're not –"

"I am," said Maya. "You said it was perfect weather."

"Not against _that_ ," said Sendai. "Three battleships…"

"Can we do it?"

Sendai thought for a moment, then hung her head. "We have to."

"Mmm." Maya nodded. "Murakumo," she barked for the lead destroyer of the little escort division steaming along with the freighters.

"Hai!"

"You're in command of the supply fleet." Maya's voice was clipped and precise as she relayed orders to the stunned destroyer. "When darkness falls, try and shake them in the dark. Sendai and I will hold the Abyssals in place for your escape."

"But –"

"Once you've disengaged, make for Pearl at best possible speed and do not, under any circumstances, double-back for us," Maya fixed the destroyer in her stare. "Do you understand?"

"But –" Murakumo was frozen in place by the cruiser's glare. "What about you and Sendai?"

"We'll…" Maya trailed off. "We'll link up with you."

"Oh," Murakumo's voice was quiet and subdued. "H-hai, Maya-Sama."

"Sendai," Maya glanced at her friend. "Are you in the mood for a night battle?"

Sendai put on a smile. "With you, Maya-sama, any day."

—|—|—

Hood woke with a gasp. Her throat was dry as gravel, her lungs only barely managing to haul meager scraps of air down her shaking windpipe. Her skin was slick with frozen sweat, and her bedding was so drenched she thought for a moment she was adrift in the icy waters of Scapa Flow.

The battlecruiser pulled herself upright as best she could. Her lithe body was quivering with adrenaline, and it was all she could manage to run her shaking fingers through her sweat-slick hair. It was her nightmare again. The same one she'd had for months. The same one she'd had every time she drifted from consciousness for more than a few moments.

Bismarck looming out of the fog, leveling those mighty fifteens squarely at her defenseless hulk. A thunder of cordite…and then nothing. Only this time it was so more vivid then the last. She saw every detail of the ship that haunted her dreams. She saw the rifling on those mighty guns, saw the waves crashing over every plate and seam on the battleship's hull, even saw her Teutonic features shift with a few silent words a moment before the guns roared.

Hood squeezed her eyes closed and hugged her slim legs against her chest. She knew it wasn't real, she knew it was just a dream. But it still shattered her to her core. She hated it. She was the pride of the Navy, the first of Her Majesty's warships to return. She should be stronger than this, yet here she was. Quivering in her bed a nervous wreck.

It just wouldn't do. Hood forced herself to stand. The floor was cold under her bare feet, and Hood let her self believe the chill was bracing. She peeled off the nightgown glued to her sinewy body with clammy sweat and stepped into the shower.

"It's not real," she murmured as cold water poured down her back. "It's just a dream…it's not real." At first, the mantra was shaken and quiet. But with each repetition, the battle cruiser built strength. But try as she might, she couldn't shake the lingering worry gnawing at the back of her mind.

Bismarck…or…some shadow of Bismarck was out there. Hood knew it in her ancient bones. But she also knew how impossible that was. She was a proper warship of Her Majesty's Navy, and she was putting stock on superstitions? Still, she wouldn't be able to sleep until she put this to rest.

Hood dried herself off and changed into her uniform. The buttons on her blouse took longer than she would have liked, her fingers were still shaking like she'd just come out of a freezer. Try as she could, Hood couldn't force her appendages to lay still.

"Damn," Hood cursed under her breath and buried her hands in her pockets to at least hide her shame. She doubted anyone would notice. The only sailors still up at this hour were those manning the base CIC, and it was so cold nobody would look twice at her if she kept her hands in her pockets.

Still it was proper unsightly and…

Hood blinked. She'd opened the door like she'd planned. But instead of seeing the quiet streets of the base after hours, she was confronted with the worried visage of her Admiral.

"Admiral, I…"

"Hood." His voice was kind, his eyes as gentle as they were tense. And then she knew.

"No," Hood's voice was barely above a whisper. "No, that's…no."

—|—|—

With a breathless gasp, the Snow Queen sank into the frigid wine-dark water of her birthing dock. She was far from a stranger to the pain of feeling her demonic spawn clawing and tearing free from the icy confinement of her womb, but this had been a particularly agonizing delivery.

The pain had been excruciating, but also exhilarating. Her muscles shivered with exhaustion, and every time a bloodstained iceberg touched her bone-white skin a bolt of pleasure roared up her spine.

She had eyes, once. Now a crown of twisted, blackened metal burst from her skull, its fine tendrils weaving through hammered-silver hair. But out of habit, she turned her eyeless face the demon crawling up from her bleeding womb and smiled.

There was only one. One perfect specimen out of a litter half a dozen. Her swollen belly had been home to them all once, but one by one the weaker fell before the might of the stronger. The queen had felt every battle of the furious war waged within her belly. She'd sensed every skirmish with unmitigated bliss as the weak within her were defeated and devoured by the strong.

Her lips twisted into a smile at the eyeless thing clawing past her still-distended middle. A gaping, bloody maw tore across flesh still stained with oily placenta, and a crown of blackened metal tore through jet-black air. A crown not nearly as impressive as the Snow Queens', but a crown none the less.

"Mmm," The queen stroked her monstrous talon down her spawn's shivering back. Its spine was riddled with long, twisted blades. Its limbs were entombed in talons smaller, but no less monstrous than those of its mother, and its claws tore into her flesh as it clawed towards her icy breast.

The queen gently helped her newborn on its way, her mind drifting on a cloud of excruciating bliss. Already the demon was massive, and it would grow to enormity suckling at her icy teat. "You will be great."

The demon was too ravenous to give even the faintest hint of a reply. Breath by laborious breath it hauled itself along its mother's massive body, until at last its razor teeth tore into the Queen's breast. Blood and milk poured through its crooked teeth and joined the gallons of blood and oil dyeing the birthing water black.

But before the Queen could truly enjoy the experience, a scuff of polished leather by her side drew her attention. Her faceless attendants with their blood-spattered lab coats and thick rubber gauntlets stood aside as an officer snapped to attention.

"Yes?" The Snow Queen turned her eyeless face in his direction, idly supporting her demon at her teat all the while. His report was through, but concise and almost sterile in its blandness. That didn't matter of course. He communicated the essence well enough, and it was the essence that filled the Queen with such joy she completely forgot the demon on her breast.

Her elder sister, the valiant warship whose death – honorable or not – came far too soon – had met her foe. A hapless convoy caught far away from any who could help. At last, her sister would know the thrill and ecstasy of the hunt.

"Keep me informed," said the queen with undisguised glee. "I want every detail of my sister's hunt."

—|—|—

Maya was soaked to the bone and drenched with sweat. She shivered from the frigid rain squall she hid in while deep within her engineers toiled in the unlivable heat of her overloaded boiler rooms. She squinted into the gloom, barely able to pick out her own bow in the wind-driven rain. Sweat stung at her eyes, and she wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

The squall had been a lucky one. German radar – and thus, she hoped, the loathsome mockeries the Abyssal fleet carried – was blinded by rain. Even if her pursuers bothered to heat up their sets – which knowing what she did about _Kriegsmarine_ doctrine, Maya doubted – the squall would keep her hidden.

It was a gamble of course, Maya's radar _could_ pierce the driven rain, but she didn't dare flick it on. Her foes might not carry effective radar, but they _had_ warning receivers. She couldn't take the risk, even a rough bearing would let her foes saturate the area with their vast layered batteries. This would be a battle of optics and skill. Not a technical display of military equipment, but a dance.

Her last dance.

Maya smiled, tasting burnt copper and charred blood with each breath. Her surging boilers were slowly killing her, but that didn't matter. She fully intended to die before the added wear and tear became an issue.

She glanced at her watch. The Abyssal fleet had been bearing down at flank, zig-zagging only enough to throw off any hopes of making a long-range torpedo shot. The Abyssal flagship might only be a reflection of Bismarck, but she must've picked up a healthy respect for torpedoes from her namesake.

Any second now the Abyssal fleet would blunder into her hastily-constructed trap. Twice already she'd almost sprung her ploy when something wandered into her rain-ruined vision, only to realize it was just an iceberg. What exactly icebergs were doing in the thoroughly subtropical Pacific was a question Maya didn't want to contemplate.

The cruiser fished her phone from her pocket and got as far as unlocking it before she thought better. There wasn't any evidence that Abyssals could crack the data-burst radios kanmusu-issue phones used, but Maya couldn't bring herself to risk it. When the battle started…she'd know.

Sendai was lying in wait just outside the squall, staring into the gloomy horizon for any hint of the Abyssals' Teutonic silhouette no doubt. The light cruiser was smaller and her superstructure was sleeker than Maya's monolithic tower. And at almost a third the weight, Sendai was far quicker on her feet than Maya. It there was anyone who could dodge salvos, it was the neon ninja.

"YASAEN!" Sendai's voice roared over the waves and even through the howling rain Maya saw her slim friend tear for flank as fast as her screws could manage. Tinny pops from her distant five-point-fives rolled over the waves as Sendai tore into the distant – and currently invisible – forms of the Abyssal fleet.

Maya wasted no time building up speed. Her turbines roared and her screws bit into the frigid water and churned it white. Her stern fell as her bow pierced the waves and drenched her with a curtain of salty spray.

Leaving the squall behind, it only took Maya a moment to get her bearings. Sendai was darting through the waves, frantically bouncing between towering splashes like a safety-orange pinball. Her guns chattered puny challenges to the thundering concussions of her monstrous foes. Every so often, her searchlights would catch a glimpse of one of the massive warships. But the next instant a frantic evasion would send the beam shining off into nothing.

Maya grit her teeth and squinted into the night. She wanted nothing more than to dive into the fight with her friend, but she couldn't risk it. Not with her precious and volatile oxygen torpedoes aboard. Sendai was quick on her feet, she could dodge shots the fifteen-thousand-ton Takao could never dream of.

"HA, HA, HA!" Sendai howled with laughter as spray from near misses drenched her scarf. "I'M RIGHT HERE!"

Maya, meanwhile, had slipped to within a few thousand yards of the roaring battleship fleet. Close enough to make out distinct shapes, not just blobs in the dark. The Abyssals were stabbing at the dark with their own spotlights, scouring frantically for the light-footed cruiser. But their attention was focused solely on the highly-visible ninja, letting Maya draw a bead in peace.

 _Ka-Ka-Ka-THOOM!_ Maya's ten twenty-centimeter guns barked in unison, hurling high-explosive on an almost perfectly-flat trajectory into the Abyssal fleet. There were more misses than hits from her hasty barrage, but a handful of shells slammed home against Abyssal superstructure, mauling precious searchlights and lookouts.

Almost as one, the three battleships turned their ire towards Maya. Secondary batteries that had until lay idle roared with hate, churning the water around her into a boiling mass of splashes and splinters. Frag from a near miss tore at her face, and Maya threw her rudder hard over and fired a hasty salvo of oxygen torpedoes.

Meanwhile, Sendai used the brief reprieve Maya's sudden appearance had bought her to line up her own salvo. Long oxygen-fueled torpedoes leapt from her tubes and tore into the frigid water.

Some sixth sense, or maybe it was just a healthy respect for the dangers of torpedoes in low-visibility conditions, alerted the Abyssals. The flagship and one of the smaller battleships peeled off, parting ways and spoiling Maya's already tenuous solution. Most of her fish went wide, but she heard two titanic explosions and glanced back to check.

Hits to the bow, outside the citadel. Not enough to enough to stop the Abyssal warship, but at least enough to slow them down. A whoop of glee roared through Maya's parched throat. She might've bought the convoy some time after all.

Sendai had no such luck, her spread was smaller and aimed even more hastily than Maya's. Her fish sailed harmlessly into the vast emptiness, and her maneuvers were far too erratic to risk a reload.

Maya threw her rudder over and reversed course. The two undamaged battleships were detaching from the third, leaving it to handle Maya and Sendai alone. Against one wounded ship…Maya thought she might have a chance, but letting the other to go free was unacceptable.

Her searchlights stabbed into the black frantically probing for a target as her blowers roared in her ears. Splashes drenched her already soaking uniform as guns of every caliber whipped the sea into a froth. She swung her lights towards the muzzle flash and ripped off a full broadside.

Shells arced through the air in every direction as five ships fought a brutal melee. Even Maya's twenty-five millimeters got into the action as she poured fire into every fleeting glimpse she got of her foes. Torpedoes splashed into the furious water, but most sailed wide of targets only barely glimpsed.

Then, a bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air. Sendai had been hit amidships. She was ablaze. Instantly, what seemed like every gun the Abyssals possessed swung her direction, peppering the burning cruiser like a beacon. In heartbeats, Sendai was burning from stem to stern, her hull low by the bow from countless holes.

Maya blinked, but before she could react a fifteen-inch shell slammed into her bow. The massive round muscled its way past her armored bulkheads like they were made of tissue paper and nearly tore her bow off. The blow knocked every bit of breath from the cruiser's lungs, she couldn't even scream as thousands of gallons of frigid saltwater poured through her rent hull and smashed against her battered bulkheads.

Her speed drooped like a rock and her bow dug into the ocean. Her torpedoes were shadowed and with her energy hemorrhaging she'd never get her bow around before her foe's next salvo. Maya felt her world go silent as her searchlights picked out the Abyssal warships. She was staring down the barrel of four massive fifteens.

"YAAASEEENNN!" Sendai howled at the top of her scorched lungs, steaming with everything she had up the middle. Maya's shadowed hull was all but lost in the brilliant pyre of Sendai's burning hull, giving the heavy cruiser precious time to get her hull around. Moments later, Sendai threw her rudder over, angling for the middle of the fleet.

It was just enough light to give Maya a solution. Her launchers roared and torpedoes erupted into the frigid waters. One crashed into an iceberg short of her target, but the other seven ran hot straight and true.

Before they could find their mark, a furious volley of fifteen-, eleven-, and six-inch shells tore into Maya's hull. The smaller shells tore into her superstructure, drenching her soaking clothes in blood. The bigger found her magazine, touching off what ammo she had left and cracking her already battered hull apart at the keel.

—|—|—

 **Uploader's Note: I imagine most of you read the author's note on Belated Battleships (once hosted by ObsessedNuker) saying he had stopped uploading. I imagine that this was brought in because of me reHosting this.** ** _YES_** **, I did get permission from theJumper on the SV forums. Any questions past that, I am happy to answer.**

 **Check out my own kantai story too, if you don't mind. I feel it's evil of me to leave the story at this, but oh well ;)**


	12. Chapter 12: Pain in the Aft

At long last, Jersey had found an isle of dignity in the vast churning sea of utter humiliation that was being forced to wear a Tiara by Jane and getting tricked into drinking liquid-Naka punch instead of something properly bitter and amber. Cake.

Jane had, somehow, fabricated a cake of truly epic proportions. It was a massive layer-cake topped by the same miniature simulacrum of Mutsu that'd been guarding the punch bowl earlier and a small doll of Admiral Richardson wearing inexplicably soggy pants. It was also rich as _fuck._ Most of the human guests could only get a few bites of the creamy, buttery chocolate down, and even the ship girls were having trouble indulging their usual gluttony.

"You know," Jersey didn't have an ounce of trouble speaking through her fork-load of cake. It was so hearty that even her enormous appetite could only tolerate a slow, measured intake. She'd thought limiting herself to a single slice would be agony, but after eating barely half her stomach felt like it was full of lead shot. "You make pretty goddamn good cake."

"Zona!" A very small standard battleship perched behind Jersey's hated tiara smacked her right between the hair tufts.

"Okay!" Jersey winced. Arizona's miniature image might be tiny, but she packed a hell of a right hook. "A pretty _gosh-darn_ good cake. Better?"

For a while, the small standard said nothing. Then at long last a half-hearted "…zona." slipped through her tiny lips.

Jersey rolled her eyes and indulged herself in another morsel of the delicious cake. If she kept eating like this, she'd end up looking like Mutsu – if Mutsu wasn't surrounded by fawning destroyers. Poor Mutsu, it seemed like everyone on the islands had come to wish her well, but the battleship was clearly desperate to get away and enjoy her wedding night.

"Excuse me, Commander?" A ragged-looking chief coughed nervously at Jersey's side. His fatigues were drenched from the howling rain coming down outside, and his sodden face looked not unlike a wet ferret.

"Chief?" Jersey swallowed her bite, and offered what was left of her cake to the damp sailor. "I…can't believe I'm saying this, but there's no way I can finish this. You want some?"

"Um," The sailor bit his lip. "No, ma'am. It's…we got a message for you." He handed her a damp piece of paper. "Forwarded from Pearl."

"Pearl?" Jersey cracked a grin. "What's Mo gotten herself in –" The battleship's voice died. Her brow knit and her posture stiffened as she read the message. Wet paper crinkled as her hand tensed, and her neck pulsed with the clenching of her jaw. "Thank you, Chief," she said with cold dispassion, "Dismissed."

"Ma'am."

It didn't take long for Jersey to find Naka. She was taller virtually everyone in attendance, and Naka's dayglow dress was impossible to miss. The little cruiser was in the middle of her live-broadcast – that, or she was just fawning to the camera for no reason, which Jersey wasn't completely willing to discount.

"Naka," Jersey forced a smile at the little traffic cone, "Um…" she squinted at Naka's camera minion. "You."

"Hi~ Hi~," Naka winked and threw up a peace sign, "Everyone, it's Nyan~ Jersey-chan!"

"Whatever," Jersey didn't even scowl. That was enough to drain the color from Naka's face. The battleship turned her back to the camera and leaned in close enough to shadow her lips. "You need to stop this right now," she whispered so only Naka could hear. "Something came up."

"O-okay," said Naka. She took a breath and forced a bubbly smile. "I'm sorry, Naka-nation, Naka-chan's got _veery important_ navy things to do~"

"And we're clear!" said her camera minion.

"Git!" Jersey barked, jabbing a finger at the opposite end of the hall. He didn't need any further encouragement.

"So," Naka's mask had fallen and she worried the tip of her bold black tie. "What's…what's going on, Jersey?"

Jersey put her massive arm around the slight cruiser and gently shepherded her towards a vacant corner of the hall. "I'm sorry," she said, and handed Naka the message.

"For…" Naka smoothed the crumpled paper with the heel of her hand and read it. Then she read it again. And again. She didn't make a sound, but her eyes tore through the words over and over, clearly hoping to catch some mistake she's made. Praying that the message didn't really say what it so clearly said. A quiet "oh" was her only response.

"She went down swinging," said Jersey. "I…I didn't really know Sendai, but –"

"No," Naka shook her head, then nodded. "I mean…you're right. It's how she wanted to go out."

Jersey let out a long, slow breath. "Look…we've gotta weigh anchor in…" she glanced at one of her several watches, "three hours if we're gonna make our rendezvous. But if there's _anything_ I or the girls can do before then, just let me know."

Naka sniffed, and nodded. "I…I think I'd, uh, rather just see Jintsu."

"Okay," said Jersey. But she didn't let Naka go without a hug.

—|—|—

Alaska was in the middle of a truly first-class cuddle session with her boyfriend when she got the news. She'd been so sleepy resting on his lap that she hadn't even registered that Sara was speaking until the third repetition. But once she did, she couldn't move fast enough.

She loved Cameron, of course, and she considered napping on his lap while enjoying a sunbeam one of life's ultimate pleasures. But she'd known Atago for longer. Far longer, considering how incredibly short her life had been. If it wasn't for Atago, she never would've worked up the courage to say hi to Cameron. Atago was more than her friend. She was Alaska's _best_ friend. And now she needed comfort.

Alaska tore through the halls, only to stop short right outside the door to her shared room. According to Sara, Atago had excused herself the moment she got the news, and nobody had been able to get her to talk since.

The door was already ajar, and Alaska pushed it the rest of the way open with the toe of her sneaker. "'Tago?" she said quietly.

Atago was sitting on the side of her bed, glassy eyes staring into the infinite distance while her gloved hands worried something. A photograph, from the crawfish dinner she and Maya shared just a few days ago.

Alaska didn't know what to say. Even if she did, she didn't think she could get the words out. So instead of saying anything, she just closed the door behind her and sat down next to her best friend in the whole wide world. She didn't touch Atago, not quite. She just hovered nearby, letting her friend know she was there.

For what felt like hours, the two cruisers sat in silence. Slowly, Alaska's breathing caught up with Atago's, and the rise and fall of both girl's chests settled to a perfect rhythm. She leaned over, her snowy-white hair kissing Atago's brilliant sunny blond locks.

"You know," said Alaska, surprising even her. "I had a sister. Her name was Guam. She didn't really…do much. That sounds horrible, and…and I love her _so much_ , but it's true. Neither of us really did."

Atago sniffled and let her head fall against Alaska's shoulder.

"We weren't in the war," said Alaska. "Not…not like some of the other girls. We were just…sorta… _there_. At the end. And then we got scrapped. And…mostly forgotten after that." She shrugged. She wasn't bitter, or even melancholy. If anything, it made the large cruiser happy to know her country had been safe enough it didn't _need_ ships like her anymore.

"But not Maya," said Alaska. "Her convoy made it to Pearl safely, you know. People are going to live because of her. And they're going to have babies."

Atago snorted a single quiet chuckle.

"And _those_ people are going to grow up and have babies," said Alaska. "And…and then _those_ people will have babies. For…for hundreds of years, thousands of people will look back and say 'I'm alive because of Maya'. And…" The large cruiser sighed, "I…if that were me…I'd be okay with that."

Atago smiled a ghost of a smile. "Thanks, 'laska."

"Any time, 'tago."

—|—|—

The Raider Princess was in agony. She was low by the bow, her proud Atlantic stem diving under the pounding waves as often as it smashed its way through. Her sides were gutted. Steel was torn open down to the citadel, exposing her aching bulkheads to the vicious, merciless, _relentless_ hammer-blows her own speed struck. Her skin was scorched glassy and raw, her decks splintered kindling. Every drop of rain sent a lightning bolt of torment down her keel.

None of that anguish even began to approach the ungodly firestorm of pure, refined rage burning deep within her stony heart. The Princess was beyond enraged. Her hunt, her righteous prize, her _just reward_ had been _stolen_ from her! Those two cruisers she so furiously dismantled down to their _rivets_ had poached her the prey that was rightfully _hers_ to hunt.

She'd reduced those foolish, insolent warships to nothing more than burning oil slicks on the rigid sea. It'd given her some tiny island of catharsis in the vast roiling ocean of righteous outrage her heart was adrift in. But the waters were rising and so too was her temper.

She longed to punish them for what they'd done. All of them, not only the treasonous thieves she'd so swiftly dispatched, but every last one of the shore-dwelling heathens who'd enabled their unforgivable crime. She wanted to make them all suffer. To watch them starve. To watch hunger drive mothers to tear their children apart. It was far too kind a fate for such an unspeakable crime, but she supposed it would have to do.

If only she could _prosecute_ it! Her hull had been torn asunder, compartment after compartment flooded. Just cruising home drew files over her burning nerves. Her demons were hardly better off. Their superstructures were ravaged, their radars shot to twisted scrap…even if their spotter planes had survived the battle, their catapults were too badly mauled to ever be used again.

The hunt she'd yearned for, for so, so long would have to be postponed. The Princess howled with rage and clenched her fists until wine-dark blood trickled through her talons and stained the iron-gray surf. At least…

At least when she reached the graving dock she would see her beloved sister again soon. The Princess swept her tongue along her razor-sharp teeth. That at least made the agony bearable.

—|—|—

Naka was, on some level, aware that she'd left the wedding and set sail with the rest of her squadron. But her memory was…distant. Hazy. Like a half-forgotten story told third-hand by somebody she wasn't really listening to in the first place. She was barely even aware of her own hull.

She heard the splash of salt against steel, but she didn't feel it. Not really, not beyond a tiny pinprick of cold that could've been an echo from a thousand miles away. When she glanced down at the slim figure and brightly-colored dress of Japan's number one idol, she had to concentrate just to remember she was looking at her own body.

Someone said her name. Maybe. Naka heard a voice, but it was muted and distant. Like someone whispering in her ear from a thousand miles away. She blinked, wiping away heavy tears that sat like forgotten jewels on her delicate features. "What?" she said, her voice strained and quiet.

Beside her steamed the towering Aryan figure of Prinz Eugen. The German-born cruiser was…more miniature battleship to Naka's overgrown destroyer. Her uniform bulged with a mighty twenty-centimeter bust, and her hips swing with nearly twice the power Naka's turbines could scrape together. But for all her size and might, the big German's bright blue eyes had gone gray and misty. Her lip quivered and she couldn't keep her hands still for a second.

"Naka," Prinz Eugen's voice was soft, her accent thick as bunker crude. "I…I served with Bismarck." She coughed and tugged at the hem of her skirt, smoothing the pleats before the stiff breeze made a mess of them again. "Not for long of course," she qualified. "She didn't last very… Anyway, she was like a sister to me. The _Kriegsmarine_ was not a fun place to be, but she and Admiral Lutjens were always so kind to me."

The cruiser stopped and bit her lip. Silent tears rolled down her pristine Teutonic features and she sniffled. "To-to hear about what that _monster_ wearing her face did to your sister… And then to think how much worse you must feel… If there's _anything_ I can do…any of us –" she motioned to where Frisco and Lou were trailing at a respectful distance, "– can do, we'll do it."

Naka took a deep breath and held it. Her spine stiffened as the chilly air slowly warmed in her lungs. She closed her eyes and squeezed away the tears. A moment later, her eyes opened to a glare harder than steel. "You can send that bitch to the bottom," said Naka without a shred of hesitation.

Prinz Eugen nodded and snapped her heels together. "Consider it done."

—|—|—

The Snow Queen sank into her twisted metal throne with an exhausted huff. Her newly-birthed demon was planted solidly on the crook of her hip. Its craggy razor teeth gnawed at the queen's sore, icy teat, finding more coppery blood than what little milk the Abyssal's exhausted bosom had left to give. Still it chewed at her barren breast, ravenous hunger driving it on a single-minded quest to sate the limitless hunger sinking at its belly.

The queen scoffed to herself, idly dragging a talon up the demon's craggy spine. She'd never birthed a _lone_ demon before, the Darwinian carnage in her womb always left an uneasy balance between two or three of her spawn. Each too mighty to assure victory over the other, they clawed forth into the world hungry for war.

But not this demon. Either by skill or luck, it had bested all the rest of its clutch. Consumed their still-warm corpses while it was still in the womb. Grown mighty beyond all measure. Its birth had been the most agonizingly painful experience of the Snow Queen's life, a torturous episode that drove her mad with pain. But the moment she laid eyes – so to speak, of course – on her newborn demon, she knew the agony had been worth it.

She'd birthed a perfect weapon. A mighty archdemon beyond equal. It was still young, too young to hunt free, but already it was nearly her size. By the time it old enough to range beyond its mother's watchful gaze, it would be truly massive indeed.

"Yes?" The Snow Queen glanced to one of her attendants. She didn't normally like being interrupted when she was nursing, but given her newly-birthed demon's ravenous appetite, she no longer had any choice in the matter.

The attendant – an office with no face beyond the polished lenses of a gas mask – snapped off a salute and handed her a communications transcript.

The Abyssal smiled as she read the neatly-typed message. Her beloved sister was making a visit. Sadly, of course, it was a visit prompted by military necessity. She and her demons had suffered damage at the hands of the traitorous fleet, but seemed to have exacted a reasonable price in blood.

"Prepare three graving docks," said the Snow Queen with a giddy smile. It was going to be so nice to see her big sister again. "And…send out an escort, I don't want anyone jumping my sister."

—|—|—

The fleet was passing through the Aleutians and Jersey had something gnawing at her that she couldn't put off any longer. When the news broke at the wedding, everyone took it hard. Naka and Jintsu had…well, Jersey didn't exactly know what they'd done, she'd tried to give them their privacy. All the destroyers, from feisty Johnston to gentle Fubuki, had visibly seethed with a primal need to go out and _kill_ something. And to be honest, Jersey was far too damn angry herself to see anything without a slight red tint.

But there was one exception. One warship who took the news not with rage or tears, but with almost wistful melancholy. A ship who actually _smiled_ at the news. A ship who almost _never_ smiled, even when presented with a bottle of strawberry milk by White Plains.

"Hey, Shina." Jersey tacked a little closer to the towering support carrier. Shinano's smile had dimmed as the trans-pacific journey wore on and her friends' anguish was more and more obvious. But even then, it hadn't completely faded.

She didn't answer at first. Her big brown eyes were milky and her unfocused gaze stared vaguely into the infinite horizon, the tell-tale sign of a carrier giving the balance of her split attention to her planes. But after a moment, the normally timid girl blinked and her gentle hazel irises were back. "J-Jersey?" She started, clearly surprised by how much closer Jersey had gotten while she wasn't looking.

"Kiddo." Jersey tugged at her scarf and scowled at the wind-driven snow whirling lazily around her. "You, uh…you doing okay?"

Shinano nodded, embers of her smile rekindling into a warm glow on her too-youthful features. "Yes," she said simply. "The others – they –" she stopped, and buried her face in the thick wool scarf she'd donned for the Arctic leg of her voyage.

Jersey sighed. "Something you wanna say?"

For a long while, Shinano just watched her own chest rise and fall. "Um…I know they see me smiling. The others, I mean."

"Yeah," the battleship kept her voice even. "They did lose two of their friends just now."

"I know," said Shinano quietly. "And…" her voice was even quieter now. So timid Jersey had to strain to hear it. "I…I guess I should be sad?"

"Ya think?"

Shinano looked away. "But…all I feel is happiness. Not –" she coughed, little clouds of hot breath curling through her thickly-gloved fingers. "– not that Sendai-sama and Maya-sama are dead. But…but that they died _for something._ "

Jersey shot the carrier a sideways look.

"I…I thought that was just a story," said Shinano. "It wasn't what we did – what Japanese ships did." She stared at her toes, "what _I_ did."

"Hey," Jersey put a hand on the big carrier's shoulder. "What's done is done. You're back now. We're all back. To fucking do _better_. You know I could've faced your big sister?"

Shinano sniffed. "What?"

"Yeah," Jersey nodded, then bit her lip. "I…at Samar," she almost whispered. "'stead I went chasing a ghost, never shoot anything bigger than a fucking destroyer the whole war. Now look at me."

Shinano's sniffle took on a hint of a giggle.

"Look at me? Look at _you_." Jersey gave Shinano a gentle whack to the back, forcing her to stand up straight and proud. "You did fucking shit last time, now you're the goddamn savior of Tokyo and the most advanced fucking flattop on the whole damn planet."

Shinano smiled a tiny bit.

"So yeah, some of us die," said Jersey. "But we die for a fucking reason. We die so we'll fucking _live forever._ Oh, and I forgot one other title you've got. Probably the most dam prestigious of them all."

"Oh?"

"You're my friend," said the battleship. "And White's friend…which…is honestly probably better."

Shinano snorted. "It is. But I like you, too." She tacked over and put her arms around Jersey for a quick hug. "Thank you."

—|—|—

The Raider Princess fumed. The agonizing pain that filled every frame of her ravaged hull merged with her apoplectic rage into an unholy concoction of pure unbridled fury. Everything drove her insane with anger. Every wave crashing against her shredded bow, every seagull winging lazily over the surf, every droplet of spray landing on her scorched skin.

Even the escort fleet her sister had dispatched brought the princess to the very limit of erupting with Vesuvian hate. She knew her sister meant well, but the pristine warships with their proud red flags were scalding reminders of her own mauled state. Her _sister_ had done well for herself, while _her_ first hunt slipped through her talons like sand through water.

It didn't help that she was _ravenous_ with hunger. Her bunkers had been holed during the night, and her icy wake was dyed an inky black as precious fuel flowed out by the ton. The meager meal of blood and fear she'd made from the two petulant cruisers had sustained her, but it hadn't even begun to quench the limitless hunger dominating her basest instincts. So primal was her need to feed, she almost fell upon her own demon in the night. Only the imminent promise of resupply by her sister allowed the Princess to assert her self-control. Even then, these last few miles were agony.

Every wave sent what little remained in her stomach sloshing against scorched and hastily-mended metal. She felt what was left of her meal crash against her skin with every pitch and roll, tearing at her flesh like iron eggs bundled in razor wire. Her stomach was mauled with even the slightest motion, and her…

No…

The Princess pushed the burnt resentments of her once-proud uniform aside and placed her gauntlet-entombed hand on the ashy skin of her charred midsection. And she _felt_ it.

A mirthless smile graced her lips, and a bitter laugh crashed over the waves like breaking glass.

It wasn't her stomach, but her _womb_. She could feel them now, now that she was allowing herself to focus on something beyond her rage. Demons growing inside her, dozens of them packed like razor-tipped sardines in the tight confines of her womb. Already they were starting to stir, their craggy metal spines tearing ribbons from the raw, tender flesh. Euphoric agony flooded her mind as she felt the horde within her fall upon itself.

There were dozens now. Hundreds, maybe. By the end, only a few would remain. But they would be strong indeed.

The Princess smiled and caressed her middle. Already she could see the first hints of swollen growth. Soon, very soon, she'd have an army at her command.

—|—|—

To her immense frustration, Sarah Gale didn't – yet – look pregnant. Every morning she'd wake up and – after prying a gorgeous but excessively cuddly _North Carolina_ off her – give her middle a quick inspection. Thus far, the only bump she'd noticed was a tiny glimmer of roundness that could've been wishful thinking or a trick of the light. It wasn't – Wash lent a few Marines with survey gear to make exhaustively detailed measurements – but still. Whatever baby bump the sailor had developed all but vanished into the baggy digital abyss of her utilities, taking with it the very tangible totem of her and Wash's love.

She wouldn't have been nearly as annoyed if Mutsu hadn't given her middle its own Instagram account. Admittedly, the Japanese battlewagon had a much larger public-relations profile than some no-name Sailor did. And was married to the next CNO's Dad. And had a magnificently toned belly to start with that her armored micro skirt was always showing off. And was carrying twins.

Okay, there were a lot of very valid reasons Mutsu's twins were in the news more than the child in Gale's belly, but it didn't make the sailor any less grumpy.

Luckily, she could blame the hormones and move on. Because while she might not _look_ pregnant, she most assuredly _felt_ pregnant. In that her stomach felt like it was stuffed full of lead shot and she had an uncontrollable craving for chicken liver and clams at all hours of the day. She'd never much cared for clams before, but now she couldn't get enough.

"This seat taken?" Doctor Crowning smiled at the sailor with far less-laden tray balanced on one hand.

"Nah," Gale shook her head and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. She was starting to understand why Jersey ate like a starving eight-year-old boy, but she hadn't quite given into her carnal temptations just yet. "Go ahead."

Crowning set his tray down and smiled. "You're looking good."

Gale rolled her eyes. "You can't even tell I'm pregnant!" She snapped with a tiny bit more vitriol than she meant.

"Mmm," Crowning glanced over the carnage of shells littering Gale's half of the table. "You're eating for…" he made a show of counting, then shrugged with a smirk. "I'm not a math guy, afraid I can't count that high."

Gale narrowed her eyes and took an angry mouthful of liver.

"How's Wash doing?"

"Well…" Gale shrugged. "She's stopped puking every morning."

Crowning shuddered. "That's good to hear." He glanced out into the gray waters of the Puget Sound. "She's…it's okay for her to be out there, right?"

"Vestal says so," said Gale. "Her womb's deep inside her citadel. As long as she's afloat, the kid's fine as can be. Or…something like that."

"You want her back?" asked Crowning in a tone far from inquisitive.

"Yeah," Gale nodded. "She'd never go for it though. We need battleships. Just getting her to accept light duty was a pain in the aft."

"Ass," said Crowning.

"What?"

"You said _aft._ "

Gale narrowed her eyes. "Did not."

Crowning just nodded.

"Motherfucker, they've got me doing it too."

Crowning chuckled for a moment, but his face quickly went still. "So, I've been thinking…"

"Huh?"

"We should be losing this war," said Crowning. "We should've already _lost_ it, right? I'm no expert on naval matters. But the abyss holds most of the oceans, and without our satellites or all the other trappings of modern technology they should've rolled right over us, right?"

"They _did_ , doc," said Gale. "We lost four decks in three hours. Most of China is just fucking _gone_."

"But they stopped," said Crowning. "They've stopped and we're holding the line. We're even pushing them back in places. Why?"

Gale shrugged. "Dammit, I don't know, Doc! Maybe they've…" She trailed off. She didn't have the slightest idea. But Crowning was staring straight at her belly, and he had that _look_ in his eyes. "Doc?"

"Gale," Crowning's voice was only tangentially connected with the world in general, his mind clearly a million miles ahead. "Did you read the report from Woody Island?"

"The maternity ward shit?" Gale shuddered. For the first time in more than a month, she lost her appetite entirely. "Yeah, that was fucked – oh."

"How much have you been eating?" asked Crowning.

"I…" Gale shook her head. "I don't know, a _lot_? You think they've got a supply problem?"

Crowning nodded. "It makes sense, doesn't it? They blew everything on one massive blow, but now they're settling in for the long haul."

"Okay," Gale blinked. "Ignoring how you changed sports mid-metaphor there…the only territory they really hold are tiny islands. You sure as hell couldn't feed…Jersey or whatever from one of those."

"Maybe it's not food," said Crowning. "Maybe there's something else they need that we're not seeing, but…there _is_ something they need."

Before Gale could say anything further, the two were interrupted by the quiet arrival of a very small destroyer with her nose buried in a very thick book. The destroyer placed a tray of chicken nuggets and milk on the table and pulled herself up into a chair, all without shifting her eyes from her reading.

"Hey, Walker," Gale smiled and ruffled the destroyer's tawny hair. Maybe it was just her pregnancy talking, but she'd always found the little four-stacker to be far more pleasant than the rest.

"Miss Gale," Walker turned the page. "Doc."

"Walker," Crowning lifted his drink at her. "What're you reading?"

" _Destroyermen_ ," said Walker. "It's about me. Well…kind of. Me if I stayed a destroyer instead of a dam-con hulk." She set her book down and smiled. "I was reading in my room, but…"

"But?" Gale coaxed.

"But it got loud." said Walker. "Bannie came in and yelled something about tubers. Then Borie got really mad but she only does thirty-five knots and…" Walker shrugged. "It's quieter here."

"That seems reasonable," said Gale. "Was Borie at least wearing pants?"

Walker thought for a moment. "Last I saw, yes."

"May miracles never cease," said Crowning with a sly grin.

Gale scowled, but couldn't bring herself to be too upset. Walker might be a four-stacker destroyer, but her time as a damage-control hulk had mellowed her out considerably. Of course, Vestal had snapped up the little destroyer for her budding medical wing practically before the summoning was over. "Hey, you wanted to come to the OB/GYN with me, right?"

Walker nodded. "If it's not too much trouble."

"Nah," Gale shrugged. "It'll be nice to have someone there."

—|—|—

Uploader's note: You have no idea how long I was crying after the Night Battle last chapter, and you probably never will. It's a bit early but I decided to release this chapter, for the closure if nothing else. 'twould be quite evil to leave the story at that, eh?

Also, _USS Walker_ does indeed get featured in a published book(s). "The Destroyermen" is not my _favorite_ series but for the naval sh'tuff, it's quite good. Makes you wonder what happens when you send a WW1 destroyer into a world with technology at that of the early 1800s.

Finally, ShinanoBestGirl. All I have to say.


	13. Chapter 13: Aftermath

For battleship New Jersey, the completion of her trans-Pacific trip home came as something of a mixed bag.

On the one hand, getting to see the soggy evergreens of Washington State filled her with a comfortable sense of familiarity. Gone were the unnecessarily fucking Japanese trinkets and cutesy bullshit the goddamn islands were thoroughly infested with. Left behind was the bizarre obsession with turning each and every goddamn thing in the fucking universe into a schoolgirl wearing an unnecessarily fucking short miniskirt. All that had been left behind as Jersey entered the land of hot coffee and warm sweaters.

But on the other hand, seeing the glowing face and coy smirk of _battleship_ Washington – and the way her hands never _quite_ left her midsection – filled her with an unreasonable fucking hatred for life in general and that particular fucking _North Carolina_ in particular. Oh, Wash wasn't showing like Mutsu was, but Jersey could _tell_.

"Why the fuck," Jersey cursed at nobody in particular. She'd _almost_ forgotten that she hadn't gotten laid fucking _once_ the entire goddamn time she'd been fuckable. "Is every goddamn boat I know getting knocked up except for fucking _me?_!"

"But –" Kongo's oppressively British accent was snapped off in an instant by an angry Iowa fueled by her immense libido.

"Stuff it, Dessboat," grumbled Jersey. "Don't pretend like the fucking _nanosecond_ this war's over you're not gonna have exclusive fucking ownership of Goto's dick for like ninety-goddamn-six hours until he's fucking begging you for mercy in fucking _Dutch._ "

Kongo's mouth hung open for a moment. Then she closed it with a smile so bright it forced her brown eyes into a squint. "Correct, Dess!"

Jersey scowled. "She's fucking pregnant. Mutsu is fucking pregnant. Kongo _will_ be pregnant without a fucking shred of doubt. Sister Sara was fucking _summoned_ because someone wanted to rail her fucking turbo-electric ass _that fucking badly_. I hear fucking _Alaska_ hooked herself a boyfriend, and that fucking cruiser couldn't seduce her way out of a fucking anime convention if her goddamn life depended on it. All of my friends are getting fucked but goddamn me!"

"What about Shinano?" asked Naka.

"Watch your fucking tongue," Jersey clapped her hands over Naka's ears. Or that was the intention, but she ended up just grabbing handfuls of the carrier's buns. "Shinano is young, and therefore unfuckable, like the destroyers."

"Okay," said Naka. "But what about me?"

"You're a traffic cone," said Jersey. "Next question."

"The cruisers?" Naka glanced over at where Prinz Eugen, Lou, and Frisco were already linking up with Wash's taskforce.

"Naka," Jersey shifted her hand to the slight cruiser's shoulder. "Poor, innocent, pure Naka."

"Clearly you've never seen my fans," grumbled Naka, but Jersey wasn't paying attention.

"If I know the first thing about lesbians –"

"Which you don't."

"– then those three are having lesbian threesomes every time we're not looking," explained Jersey. "Also fuck you, I'm the lesbian fucking _queen._ "

"Says the girl bitching about never getting laid." Naka glanced up at Jersey. Then without a sound, she winked and threw up a peace sign while throwing her hip to the wind in the most Japanese of ways.

"Okay, fuck you," said Jersey. "But also, good to see you're back."

Naka smiled. A genuine smile, not the fabricated idol shit she wore to build her fanbase and annoy the living shit out of Jersey. "Thanks."

Jersey shrugged. "Gotta play nice," she stiffened her posture, subtly transforming from Jersey-the-battleship to Jersey-the-officer. "Wash, it's nice to –"

"ONEESAMAAAA!" A warship that could only be described as Kongo, but Asian-er and even less connected to reality, howled at the top of her surprisingly capacious lungs.

"KIRISHIMA-CHAAAN!" Kongo howled back and took off at a sprint. Her stern sank into the water as her screws beat the choppy Pacific surf to foam.

"I hate Japan," grumbled Jersey, and she decided to ignore the two insane battleships for now. "Wash."

The serene, yet smugly pregnant, _North Carolina_ smiled as she approached at a far more sedate pace. "Jersey, you've filled out."

"Thanks," Jersey smiled and self-consciously weighed a handful of her newly-enlarged bosom. She still wasn't totally used to having a rack as objectively awesome as her ass. "You're…uh…fucking pregnant."

"You noticed?" Wash said. If it was anyone else, Jersey would've assumed Wash was teasing her. But Wash was so fucking hard to read.

Jersey nodded, "Who's the –"

The sound of Kongo and Kirishima hugging each other cut her off. Given that they were both thirty-six thousand ton warships closing at a combined speed of almost sixty knots, it was a very loud and somewhat unpleasant sound.

"Goddamn, they're loud." Jersey scowled. "Anyway, who's the father?"

Wash smiled. "Gale."

Jersey blinked. "That's the weirdest thing I've heard all month."

Wash shrugged with a dissonant smile.

"You understand I was in Japan like…a week ago, right?"

Wash's smile vanished. "Oh."

"Yeah."

—|—|—

Sarah Gale sat on the examination table with her head cradled in both hands. She couldn't believe she'd actually been _excited_ for her checkup. Her hormones must be royally fucked up if she thought that, somehow, her visit to the OB/GYN would give her some shred of happiness or joy instead of suffering and frustration. She'd actually thought that _something nice_ would happen to her! Something _nice_!

It'd all been going so well. The doctor – a kindly man with hair the color of snow who'd traveled all the way from the Mayo Clinic who'd flown in specifically for her – had actually made getting her blood and urine collected for testing feel like a day at the spa. He'd even given Walker a lollipop and patiently answered all her questions with what sounded like genuine enthusiasm.

And then the tests came back.

"Um," Walker tugged at Gale's sleeve. "Miss Gale?"

"No, Walker." Gale glanced over at the kindly Mayo-clinic doctor. The man with three degrees to his name. The man who was curled up into a small ball in the corner of the room squinting a folder and mumbling something about boats on repeat. "This doesn't normally happen."

"Oh," Walker nodded, and scribbled in her Dora-the-Explorer notebook. "Okay."

"Except," Gale added under her breath, "To me."

—|—|—

"And then she starts bawling about her CO taking away her consoles and threatening to put her on daylight escorts only!" Naka laughed as she continued her tale of Sendai's more humorous hijacks with the Americans. She was also completely smashed. The number of empty bottles had grown to the point one would wonder where she put it all.

Jintsu merely smiled as she listened, polishing off her latest contribution to the growing pile of empty vessels. She wasn't one to drown herself in alcohol. However, she wasn't a teetotaler either. And given the fact her elder sister had just been killed in the line of duty and her younger sister just needed her company?

Well, she was quite willing to put herself three sheets to the wind in that case.

"To be fair, I do believe he did warn her about running around shouting on base in the middle of the night." she piped up with a small giggle, "…Many times?"

"At least a dozen. Prolly more. No. Yeah, definitely more." Naka didn't wait more than a second after speaking to upend a beer and drain the last of its contents.

"She never could sit still for more than a second."

"Not unless she had a record to beat."

"Even then, she would be bouncing and bobbing as if it would give her some kind of advantage. Or get her car to turn faster." Jintsu recalled having nearly been hit in the head during one of Sendai's stopovers at Sasebo. Mario Kart wasn't supposed to be a full-contact game by her reckoning.

"Hey, I do the same thing. Nothing wrong with getting into a game." Naka picked up two new bottles from the ice chest she'd liberated from the reception and handed one over. "She just really, really got into it sometimes? She was always doing that with something she really liked. Like that one time at Pearl? With the truck."

Oh, yes. That. How could she possibly forget that particular tale?

Jintsu heaved a mighty sigh.

"That was not one of her better days. And not even a week after being stationed there." She popped open the new bottle and eyed it as she continued. "How many days in the brig did she get?"

"Mmm…five, I think." Naka paused as she narrowed her eyes at some far-off point Jintsu was content to leave be. Whatever helped.

"I thought it was less."

"It was gonna be two. But then they found out the truck landed on the base CO's car. Absolutely totaled." The idol laughed as Jintsu rubbed her forehead in exasperation. That wasn't how you were supposed to play Kick the Can.

She'd have a headache long before anything even remotely resembling a hangover could get to her. If she could even get a hangover in the first place. Having the experience of being drunk? Yes. Hungover? Not yet.

But the headache at Sendai's antics came with a bittersweet taste that no amount of alcohol would ever be able to wash away.

That one simple fact that they'd never see her again.

No new stories of getting kicked out of bars with Maya.

No more posts about her latest best in whatever racing game she'd snuck into her dorm.

No more shouts of 'YASEN!' at any given moment.

No more Sendai.

Jintsuu felt her eyes begin to hurt as her chest tightened. She'd always been the more levelheaded and straight-laced one. Much as any member of her class could ever claim to be. But now...

"Hey…"

"H-Huh?"

"She's really gone, isn't she?" Naka looked up at her from the now half empty bottle, tears welling up in her eyes. "It's just us now. Us two Sendais."

It was rhetorical.

So painfully rhetorical.

"…Mmm-hmm." Jintsu nodded, no matter how much part of her wanted to lie and say the information was bad. The part that wanted to rage and scream. To visit violence upon her sister's killer. To enact a vengeance so terrible that Davy Jones himself would turn away in horror.

Were it in her power. No, even if it was beyond her in every possible way. There was a part of her that wanted nothing more to make that Abyssal suffer. To make it die screaming in fear as she enacted the blood price fo –

*crunch*

…Oh.

"Hah…Hahaha…" Naka laughed without any hint of mirth. Or if there was, Jintsu couldn't tell.

"Oops." She released the crushed bottle and let the shards fall from her hands onto the table, the beer having already spilled out in a frothy mess. It was a mess. But she simply couldn't bring herself to care.

"Sendai would totally be making fun of how stressed out we right now." Naka snorted as she began to cry. "P-Probably go tell us to blow off some steam with a night battle. Go hunt down some Abyssal escorts or something. The more dangerous the better."

Yes. Yes, she would have.

Even in the face of the end times, Sendai would have grinned and shouted her trademark phrase.

She would never, ever have lost heart.

"No!" Jintsu stood and declared with as much heart as she could muster, trying to imitate Sendai's boisterous energy.

Naka seemed taken aback at her outburst.

Jintsu felt her own tears begin to fall as she pointed a finger at her little sister.

They'd tried to cope with the delivery of Sendai's death with booze and tales of better times. Silly stories and exaggerated boasts of battle. All the trouble and fun that Sendai had been. Both in person and across the sea. Their rambunctious and utterly pain-in-the-ass elder sister.

It was painfully obvious how little that particular plan of action had done for them.

"Sendai's gone. She's dead and she's not coming back." She declared, somehow not giving into the sobs that were growing in the back of her throat. "She died…"

Her finger trembled.

It was so very, very hard…

"S-So, so we have to…" She couldn't. Her energy was already spent trying to get this far.

She was a warship given human form. Warships were built to fight and serve and sink if the tides of battle didn't favor them. Logic stated they weren't supposed to feel the cornucopia of emotions their crew did. Weren't supposed to have knowledge of all the experiences they did.

And yet here she was.

Trying and not having any idea if she was succeeding in dealing with this thing called loss. The loss of a loved one. Of her family. Of her crazy sister.

It was so similar and yet worlds apart from the time Hiei had nearly been sunk. At least with Hiei, she'd actually been there. She'd seen it with her own two eyes. There'd been something she could do. No matter how small the effect, she'd been able to make an attempt.

But with Sendai…

"Sis." Jintsu lowered her hand as Naka stood from her seat, rocking back and forth as the alcohol screwed with her navigation.

"Naka…I…I don't…"

Naka wrapped her in a tight embrace.

"You're the most t-terrifying ship-person-thing ever and way too competent with NCO things. Even the rest of us on the n-network think it's weird. And I love you." Jintsu blinked as Naka pulled away with a teary smile. "But you really suck at this."

"I-I'm trying!" She honest to goodness was. Naka's drunken laughter only made her frown in frustration.

"Jersey could do better." Naka let her go and poked her on the forehead. "And she sucks at being people more than…uh…anyone."

"H-Hey!"

"It's…totally different. You know." Naka's expression fell even further. "So many of us were sunk in the war. You. Me. I think only a handful made it out of that hell by chance."

Jintsu found herself unable to comment as her little sister hung her head.

"We all died. All of us." Naka's hands tightened into fists. "So why does it hurt so much now?"

Because they were human now?

Because they could now fully comprehend and experience things like their crews once did?

Because they weren't constrained in their ability to express themselves anymore?

Because this?

Because that?

"Because…we –"

"Because whatever. I don't give a damn!" Naka bellowed, her expression shifting to one of fury. Angry tears still streamed down her face. However, she didn't seem to care one whit about them or the mess her face was becoming.

"She lived. She died. She lived again!" The idol threw her bottle to the ground, shattering it and sending glass and beer everywhere. "We barely had the chance to know her this time around. But she was still our sister! Our Davy-damned sister! I don't care if I'd known her for five fucking minutes or five-hundred years."

"Naka, ple –" Jintsu found herself cut off again as Naka worked herself up into a rant.

"Sendai died out there. And I feel like absolute shit because I won't ever get to see her again. I won't get to make more memories. I won't get to give her hell for causing trouble again. I won't get to do this or that or anything ever again! That future was taken away!"

"I don't care why it hurts so damn much, sis. I don't." Naka drew in a choked breath. "I only care that it does."

Jintsu bit her lip.

What could she say to that?

Nothing. She couldn't say anything. Did it matter what was right and what was wrong here? Did she really need to find an explanation for why this pain in her heart ached so much?

"How…how can you…" Jintsu embraced Naka, pulling her into a tight hug.

"I'm Naka-chan, dummy. Number one idoru."

Jintsu snorted.

"You suck at this just as much as I do."

"Bite me."

Jintsu didn't reply, only held her little sister. Her living sister who was almost as much of a pain as the sister they'd both lost. Perhaps even more troublesome if she bothered to think harder about it. Just a different kind.

"Naka, promise me." She ran her fingers through Naka's unbound hair. A gesture of comfort for both of them. "Promise me you'll be safe out there."

At least as safe as anyone could be out on the battlefield against demons from the great beyond.

Jintsu received no reply.

"Naka?"

Naka had gone limp in her arms, leaving against her without a care. Her breath had gone shallow and the occasional snore sounded out. It made Jintsu want to laugh and let Naka fall to the ground in a drunken pile. Who falls asleep during such a moment?

The world's number one idol of the fleet apparently.

Jintsu sighed with a resigned smile on her lips. Wisdom and insight far beyond what she had ever expected. And still leaving it to her to be the responsible one.

A knock from the door drew her attention away from the dozing idol. She glanced back down before deciding Naka's dignity could wait.

"Enter."

"Ah, ma –" The young man, whom she recognized as the cameraman at her little sister's side during the ceremony, paused at the sight he now had placed before his eyes upon entering the room. He shook his head and saluted. A salute she could not return at the moment. "Ma'am. Miss Naka needs to be at the docks with the rest of the fleet for deployment."

Jintsu swore internally as she recalled that rather significant detail.

"Will…will she be able to make it?"

"She doesn't have a choice." Jintsu gave Naka a bit of a shake in an effort to rouse her. A grumble and a rather uncomfortable shift in position were her only response. She really was going to end up making this difficult. "Naka, wake up."

"Don't…wanna…" Naka mumbled only slightly more coherently.

Jintsu frowned.

"Naka, I…know this isn't the best of times. We can't run away. We have to do our duty." Naka seemed to stir a little at that reproach. But not enough for her liking. Her voice turned more stern. "Naka. Wake up."

"Pardon, ma'am. May I?"

She raised an eyebrow ever so slightly at the cameraman. After a moment of thought, she nodded.

He withdrew Naka's phone from his breast pocket and gave her an apologetic look. So that's where the thing had gone.

"Hey, idoru, if you don't wake up I'm going to make sure your very unsecured phone makes its way to the Admiral's desk." Jintsu giggled despite herself. "Or to your fans."

There was a loud crash as Naka all but leaped out of her arms and tackled the cameraman. She'd have to remember that the next time Naka refused to wake up. Only she'd do a much better job of evading any potential reaction. Perhaps it would be a good idea to let someone more directly in command of her little sister know however.

Admiral Williams seemed a good choice. Certainly not New Jersey though. That would be ripe for abuse.

"…ow."

"Dammit, minion! That's not funny."

"It worked?"

"Fuck you."

Jintsu laughed at their exchange. A real, genuine laugh. Naka would be okay. She'd never be completely okay. None of them would be. But seeing the drunken idol giving her minion the third degree so soon after having been a wreck of so many different kinds not too long ago gave her hope.

She clapped her hands, receiving the attention of both individuals on the floor.

"Naka, you should get going. Take the scenic route to clear your head and so Commander New Jersey doesn't catch on to the fact you're reporting while inebriated."

"…Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that." She hauled herself off of minion and to her feet. Her stance was a little shaky. Nothing a decent walk couldn't help however. "Thanks, sis. For everything. You take care of yourself, too. I love you."

Jintsu smiled and nodded.

"I love you too, Naka. Be careful out there." She made a shooing motion. "And take your minion with you. I don't want to find out you passed out in a ditch on the way."

"I didn't drink that much…"

Jintsu let out a breath as the two departed.

Everything in the day came rushing back with a vengeance.

The joy and happiness of the wedding.

The cheer and fun of the reception.

…The pain and anger at her loss.

Now alone, she shuffled towards the door. Her feet carried her through the mess she and Naka had made. The broken glass cut into her shoes, but was ground to dust beneath her steel.

"Sendai…"

"Jintsu."

Huh?

She looked up to see her family. Her new family. Mutsu. John. Hiei. Jane. Arizona. Even Albacore was there, barring her path to the exit.

They held out their arms to her and she cracked.

"Come on. We're here for you," said Mutsu warmly.

Jintsu balled her fists before running into their waiting arms. She was embraced by them as a whole and she broke. She broke and she wept with an abandon she hadn't been able to show to Naka.

"We're here for you…"

"Thank you, everyone…"

—|—|—

Uploader's Note: I swear the action picks up after this. No, really.

On a side note, I woke up two days ago and over 100 fanfiction notifications spammed my inbox. Funny enough, I had actually rehosted this story over a month before you all found it, under "Kancolle". I wondered why I was getting less than 10 views a week. Surprise surprise, You were all keeping track of "Kantai Collection", not "Kancolle". Lesson learned: choose the right topic or nobody reads it!

Caboose out


	14. Chapter 14: We're up all night

When Crowning made his way to the mess for breakfast, Jersey was already at a table working on what looked like her eight plate of syrup-drenched waffles. Which was strange considering Crowning liked to eat an early breakfast around six or seven, while Jersey was well-known as being all but incapable of forming a coherent sentence if you made her get up before noon.

Even stranger, the towering battleship was actually sitting up straight – more or less, she always had a _bit_ of a slouch to her – and shoveling down waffles with such vigor Crowning _swore_ there was a slight breeze from the displaced air. Normally when she got up this early, she slumped over in her chair and mewed pathetically in the hopes that her food would deliver itself to her mouth.

Stranger still was that Crowning _knew_ she didn't have a mission scheduled soon. That was the only reason he could imagine she'd get up this early for. Well…besides maybe a date, but that seemed even more improbable.

She didn't even notice his presence until he'd already gathered the fixings for his breakfast – oatmeal with a dash of brown sugar and cream with some fresh Washington apples. Even then it was a just a nod in his direction. Her mouth _was_ visibly bulging with waffles, but that hadn't stopped her before.

"Jersey," Crowning smiled at the big battleship but stopped before he got close. There was a time when the thought the Amazonian warship was an impenetrable, unstoppable force. That was before he learned how terribly fragile she was anywhere _but_ on the waves.

"Doc," Jersey wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her chipmunked cheeks squished in a smile that forced her into squints.

Crowning chuckled to himself. He did love her. Maybe not as…reverently as he had before. Maybe not even romantically anymore. But the battleship was more than a ship given form. She was funny, and brash, and sometimes even sweet. She had a _soul_. She deserved to be protected and cherished, even as she protected everyone else. "You're up early."

"Fuch yuh," Jersey swallowed.

"It's barely seven."

"I repeat myself," Jersey flipped her middle finger and skewered a pile of waffles with her fork. "Actually, this is still my dinner."

"Mmm?" Crowning cocked an eyebrow, still standing a close but respectful distance away.

"I got in –" Jersey blinked. "Doc, siddown. I don't have fucking cooties or shit."

Crowning chuckled and did as he was asked. "Rabies perhaps?"

"I –" Jersey's eyes went wide as the waffles she was wolfing down. Her free hand clapped to her head so quickly the ringing sound of metal-on-metal chimed through the mostly-empty mess hall. "Oh fuck," she cursed, frantically shoving one of her uncontrollable little hair tufts back under her hat. "You saw _nothing._ "

Crowning made a show of zipping his mouth shut. Of course, _he_ thought the little tufts looked adorable.

"Anyway," Jersey said with a rather sharp crack to her rich contralto. "Uh, I got in really damn early this morning. I was real fucking hungry, so I had to eat before I could crash." She took another huge bite. "Akually –" she swallowed just enough to speak. "Uh, _actually_ , I had to read Shina down before I could eat. Poor girl was beat, but still wanted a bedtime story."

"And you put off dinner for that?" said Crowning. Somehow it didn't surprise him, although he was sure her choice of bedtime story might.

"Hell yeah," said Jersey, "Girl's precious as _fuck_ when she gets tired. Also, strong as hell. She kinda commandeered Hoel as a teddy bear."

"I'm sure Hoel didn't mind," said Crowning.

"She had no choice in the matter," said Jersey pointedly.

Crowning chuckled, and for a few minutes the two ate in silence. Or rather, they ate in silence accompanied by the syrupy slurping sounds of an Iowa-class battleship devouring waffles with all the gluttony of a quarter-million turbine-driven horses.

"I meant what I said, by the way," said Jersey at last.

"Hmm?"

"I…" Jersey blushed and muttered something under her breath. The only words Crowning caught were 'limey cunt.' "I don't have cooties."

"I figured as much," chuckled Crowning, unsure of where the Iowa was going.

"I mean…" Jersey shuffled awkwardly on her bench. "I'm horny as goddamn fuck all the time, and I haven't been laid fucking _once_ since I got back. I'm fucking _desperate_ to get some goddamn action 'tween my shafts, okay?"

Crowning almost choked on his oatmeal. "Um…"

"Look," Jersey put one of her monstrously strong hands on his. "I know we're not a thing anymore. And if you want to say no, I won't hold it against you in the least. I'm…sure I can find _someone_ who wants some of this amazing American Ass." The battleship paused for a moment. "That sounded _really_ fucking arrogant, didn't it?"

Crowning shrugged in the affirmative. To tell the truth, it barely even registered compared to her usual air of playfully arrogant smugness.

"Anyway," Jersey shook her head. "Just…after all the shit we've been through – the shit _I_ put you through, figured I should at least _offer_. Okay now I'm done."

Crowning steepled his fingers for a moment. He'd be lying if he said he didn't have any interest in taking the battleship to bed. He'd be surprised if there was any straight man who _wouldn't_ want to see the Iowa's magnificent figure in its raw, unclothed beauty. She was, quite objectively, _gorgeous_.

But she was also his friend. And she was, in her own words, desperate. To take advantage of that…it just wasn't right. And he wasn't just any straight man. "No. Jersey, I…no."

For a moment Jersey was silent. Then she breathed a huge sigh of relief and smiled. "Okay, I…yeah. Okay. I didn't really expect…I just had to ask, you know?"

Crowning nodded, idly thinking back to the days where grading a particularly interesting paper would be the most exciting point of his day.

"It's 'cause you're into Kirishima, isn't it?" said Jersey.

"What?" Crowning blinked. "No."

Jersey narrowed those terrifyingly blue eyes of hers. "No, it's not because of Kirishima?" she asked. "Or no, you're not into Kirishima?"

"No, it's –" Crowning coughed, caught off-guard. "Kirishima and I are just friends."

"Fucking _why_ though?" asked Jersey. "Have you seen her ass in that miniskirt? Mini-Dess is hot as _shit._ "

"Jersey, we –"

"Deny it," said Jersey. "Fucking _deny it_ , bitch."

Crowning closed his mouth.

"That's what I thought," said Jersey with a smirk. "Besides, she's a total fucking nerd and she's got the short-hair / glasses thing…" the battleship trailed off with a whistle.

Crowning had to agree with her on that one, although he at least kept it to himself.

"It's a miracle you haven't railed the _kessen_ out of her _kantai_ yet," said Jersey, giggling at her own stupid joke. "Look, if you want I could go see if she's interested."

"Jersey, you really don't have to –"

"No." Jersey planted a finger on his nose and pushed him back into his seat. "When you've got the libido of a battleship, not getting properly fucked _sucks._ I have fucking _suffered_ for months because of this shit. _No one else_."

"I have no choice in this, do I?" said Crowning.

"Actually, yeah," said Jersey. "Look me square in the eye and tell me you don't wanna bang the littlest Kongo."

"I…" Crowning locked eyes with the Iowa's icy glare. "I…you're right."

"HA!" Jersey cackled.

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Briefly," said Jersey. "But then you'll be too deep in inexplicably British-themed heaven to care."

—|—|—

Meanwhile on the Gulf Coast, it was three AM and battlecruiser Saratoga was slowly melting into bedding. Well, maybe not really, but that's what it felt like. She'd stripped every piece of clothing – save for a thick black scrunchy valiantly struggling to keep her bushy ponytail under control and her little red neckerchief – but it hadn't really helped. Every inch of the cruiser's sun-kissed skin was coated with a thick film of sweat, and she could barely tell where her body ended and the muggy Louisiana air began.

She'd experienced heat before. She'd served in the subtropical waters of the Pacific, and even had two brief but intimate encounters with man-made suns that'd left her with a permanent but _slightly_ uneven tan. But she'd never experienced such an all-encompassing, sweat-inducing, totally _draining_ heat like this.

Maybe it was because all those other times she hadn't had a body. Or…she _had_ , but it'd been made of steel instead of shapely girl. Maybe it was related to Crossroads. The radiation had changed her somehow, made her less tolerant to heat. Maybe it even made _her_ a heater; her tummy _had_ become prime destroyer-cuddling territory recently.

Or maybe it was just some deep Cajun magic in the muggy Louisiana air that sapped her turbo-electric energy. Whatever the cause, Sara was too exhausted to do anything but stare at the impassively glowing lights of her bedside clock. Even falling asleep was too much effort for the overheating warship to manage.

Hey! It was three-oh-one now!

Sara used that momentous occasion as justification to roll onto her back. Her breasts audibly peeled from the sweat-soaked sheet she'd been laying on, but it was nice to get some airflow over her massive stack, even that air _was_ brutally hot.

"Oh, my God," Sara forced a wet breath through her throat. It was _so_ hot, and she knew she wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. She was starting to think it wasn't worth trying in the first place.

Of course…her shower was just down the hall…

The former carrier closed her eyes. Just thinking about nice cool water splashing against her skin made her smile. One of the greatest pleasures of being a girl was taking nice cool showers.

Finally, Sara found the energy to pull herself to her feet. Her shower caddy – a bucket in the shape of her old hull with a handle where her stack had been, courtesy of Alaska and Atago – was just across the room, and finding a clean towel only took a moment.

Sara hastily tucked her towel around herself and padded down the hall to the showers. Everyone else was either on patrol or asleep at this hour, so she'd have the whole complex to herself. She picked her favorite stall, and turned the water as cold as it could get.

"O-oh~" A moan of pure ecstatic bliss crossed her lips as sweat was blasted aside by cool, clean water with just a hint of salt. She slowly slid to her knees and closed her eyes, letting the water pound down against her head and run down her face in soothing rivers.

Mmm…showers were _definitely_ the best part about being a girl.

Sara stayed in the shower for almost an hour before her stomach started to rumble. As a capital ship, she was in a constant state of being kinda hungry. But this was different, a deep rumbling need in her tummy demanding to be sated. Luckily, Sara was based in Louisiana, and those Cajuns knew things about food that mere mortals could only dream of.

The battle-cruiser shut off the water and quickly dried herself off. She was hungry, but it wouldn't do to go prancing around the mess naked like she was fresh off the slip, so she made a detour to her room first.

It was too hot to wear much, so she settled on an airy white sundress. No need for a bra, even if she could've tolerated that much fabric on her bare skin in this heat, her long sixteens were study enough to keep their shape without external support.

After adjusting her neckerchief until it was _just so_ , Sara took off for the mess hall. Breakfast proper hadn't been served yet, but there was a constant buffet area set up for hungry shipgirls just getting back from patrol, so Sara was able to build herself a hearty pre-breakfast of bacon, sausage, biscuits, corn bread, pancakes, and lots of blueberries.

But when Sara went to find a table, something caught her eye. There was a small gaming lounge in the corner of the mess. It'd started when Alaska smuggled in Cameron's Game Cube so she could play Mario Cart with him. But over time, more and more systems and games had been left for bored shipgirls to play with.

Of course, the mere existence of the gaming area wasn't enough to catch her attention. But someone had left one of the televisions on. A beautiful blue sky speckled with clouds scrolled by to the sound of pleasingly baroque strings while a banner proudly displayed "Skies of Arcadia." Below that, a pulsing message invited her to 'press play.'

"Hmm," Sara munched on a hunk of cornbread. "Don't mind if I do." It took her a moment to find the right controller, but once she did she was hooked. She'd been so focused on learning how to be a surface warship, she'd forgotten the sheer joy of flying. And not just flying, but being a _pirate_ of the air!

Sara was so enthralled, she almost forgot to eat. She _did_ forget to keep track of time. She was still sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, eyes glued to her characters when Alaska walked in with a yawn.

The large cruiser was dressed in her pajamas with her stuffed Washington plushie tucked under her arm. Under normal circumstances, she'd have made a direct course to the cereal and poured herself a bowl of Fruity Pebbles before the destroyers got to it and broke the machine. But she stopped when she noticed what the busty former-carrier was doing.

With a tiny smile, Alaska fished a notebook out of her pocket and scribbled something in it. A notebook labeled in her trademark messy printing 'Operation: Get Mom Laid."

—|—|—

"G'morning, ma'am." Yeoman Bowers couldn't help but smirk. It was just past eleven in the morning, and Jersey was clearly holding onto consciousness only by the very skin of her teeth. She squinted into the midday sunlight, her icy blue eyes narrowed to crusty slits. Her vast mane of shimmering strawberry-blond hair was an untamed shrub given some modicum of control only by its immense length.

Her pajamas hung low over those awesome hips of hers, exposing a good chunk of her panties – antifouling red with a thick black stripe at the top. Her cropped t-shirt was lopsidedly stretched over a bosom far too filled out for it to truly contain, and her cottony mouth slowly opened and closed. "Muur?" mumbled the Amazonian woman.

Bowers stifled a giggle. The way she heard it, Jersey had stayed up all night. First to get Shinano tucked in and read her a bedtime story, then to sate the legendarily gluttonous appetite that a woman with her chiseled stomach should in no way have. "I got you coffee, ma'am."

Jersey slowly blinked. Slowly the gears in her mind started turning, and she stiffly reached for the tall cup Bowers was holding. Her fingers closed around the warm cardboard and with immense effort brought the steaming liquid to her lips. Her head tilted back and her long, thick neck rippled as she downed the whole thing in one long sip.

"Hmm." The battleship crushed the now-empty cup in her massive hand. Her eyes were still lidded, but at least there was some visible spark of life behind those icy portals. "'s good."

"Thank you, ma'am." Bowers glowed with pride. She'd made something that could wake up a battleship – albeit only _just_. Jersey still looked tired and hungover. "It's espresso, but instead of water, I used monster."

Jersey squinted at the sailor. "If I were human, this would've killed me wouldn't it."

"Oh, by the first sip at least."

The battleship cracked a sleepy smile. "I like you, Yeoman."

Bowers smiled. "Thank you, ma'am. And…about that," she handed the battleship some paperwork. "I'm your new Yeoman, Admiral Williams' orders."

"Eh?" Jersey grunted and looked over the papers. After about ten minutes she scowled and turned them the right way up. "Yeoman?"

"Yes, ma'am." said Bowers. "You're a Commander, you rate a staff. Technically, you have for a while, but we've been so short-handed and…"

"And after that shit in Tokyo, the Admiral wants an adult holding my leash?" said Jersey with a bitter smirk.

"Uh," Bowers bit her lip. "I…not in so many words, no ma'am."

The battleship shrugged. "I probably deserved that."

"Whatever you say, ma'am." Bowers hoped it was a proper answer. Jersey was…a very nontraditional officer. And also, she was a ship, which was kinda weird.

"So," Jersey yawned and scratched at her rock-hard stomach. "If you're my staff, I can make you do shit, yeah?"

"Well…" Bowers shrugged. "To an extent."

Jersey giggled to herself. "'m not gonna pull a Wash on you, don't worry. Just…I got my bunkers enlarged in Japan."

"I'm aware, ma'am." Said Bowers. Her best friend Gale had been indignant when the news first came back that Jersey's awe-inspiring hips were now paired with an aesthetically equivalent – and equally biologically impossible for a woman with her degree of muscle tone – bustline.

Bowers hadn't seen the problem though. Jersey _wasn't_ a woman, she was a blatantly supernatural personification of American Naval Might. She wasn't bound by the same laws as mere mortals, nor should she be. Also, Bowers considered the Iowa's new balanced hourglass to be far more visually pleasing than her prior bottom-heavy build. Maybe it'd finally get Musashi to _shut up_.

"Heh," Jersey smirked and for a moment looked like she was going to grope herself. But then she seemed to realize the amount of effort that would take and thought better of it. "Anyways…I need new clothes. Well…shirts and bras, nothing I have fits anymore."

"I'm certain," said Bowers. "You didn't get anything in Japan?"

Jersey rolled her eyes. "Like they have anything that'll fit American grown triple-Ds."

Bowers blinked and stared at the battleship's breasts. Her big, round, and _most assuredly not triple-D-cup_ breasts. "Uh, ma'am? Do you know how bra sizes work?"

Jersey narrowed her eyes. "From your tone, I'm going to assume no…"

"You…" the sailor cupped her head in her hand. "You can't just list your cup size. There's a band size too."

Jersey stared on with utter comprehensions. Bowers couldn't exactly blame her, everything the battleship knew about the female body came from the memories of _male_ sailors, none of whom were probably eager for a lecture on the finer points of bra fitting.

"It's…like your rifles," continued Bowers. "You've got bore diameter, but also caliber."

It was like a switch flipped, and the Iowa's face lit up in a smile. "Ooooooooh." A moment later though, her confusion returned. "Wait. Yeoman…how the fuck did you know that?"

Unlike the Amazonian battlewagon, Yeoman Jennifer Bowers did not possess an hourglass figure of swooping feminine curves. She was a living twig, devoid of any curves – feminine or otherwise – save for her admittedly inexplicable hips. If it wasn't for uniform regulations, she might not even _wear_ a bra on the daily. "Ma'am, you know I do cosplay."

Jersey nodded. "But…"

"Just…" Bowers fished a phone out of her digis and found the picture she was looking for. "This is my friend Kitty."

Jersey blinked at the picture, her eyes suddenly going as wide as her mighty rifles. Kitty might not have the battleship's colossal stature, but she more than made up for it in curves. Plus, Bowers was _exceptionally_ proud of the seam work she'd done on that Power Girl suit. "W-what?"

"Yeah," said Bowers.

"Did you show Musashi?"

The sailor shook her head. "And make her even _more_ anxious to rub her Kantai Kessens in everyone's face?"

"Point," said Jersey.

"You know…" Bowers cradled her chin in her hand. "With your figure, a new outfit might have to be made to measure…"

The battleship narrowed her eyes again. "Yeoman, you're almost drooling."

Bowers shrugged. She might not have much in the chest department – something she was eternally thankful for, considering she didn't have the superhuman spines of the shipgirls – but tailoring a complex outfit over such an enthusiastically feminine shape as Jersey's rack was the kind of technical challenge she lived for.

"Whatever," Jersey shrugged. "I'm gonna take a shower, just make me look hot."

"Shouldn't be hard, ma'am."

The battleship smirked. "Oh, and Bowers?"

"Ma'am?"

"You do admin stuff and shit for me, right?" asked the big Iowa.

Bowers nodded.

"I hear there's a plane museum in town."

"Yeah, Flying Heritage," said Bowers. "They got a lot of WWII stuff."

Jersey nodded, her hands reflexively going to her wide hips. "That's the one. Think you could arrange transport for Shina and I? And like…" she held her hands a few feet apart, "yea much destroyers?"

"No problem, ma'am," said Bowers with a stifled giggle.

"And…" Jersey bit her lip. "See if you can arrange a tour at an odd hour. Either really early or really late or something. Shina's not gonna have fun if she's too busy hiding from a crowd."

"Awwww," Bowers cooed, earning her a sour look from the battlewagon. "I'll get right on it ma'am."

—|—|—

Meanwhile on the Gulf Coast, large cruiser Alaska was enjoying her breakfast of Pebbles and boxed apple juice. Some might call her childish, but considering she was wearing her Hot Wheels footie pajamas – a gift from Cameron for no particular reason – while her Wash plushie was propped up next another, somewhat smaller bowl of Fruity Pebbles…they were probably right.

In her defense though, by any reasonable standard except the actual physical age her hull _would_ have been if she hadn't been decommissioned when she was three and scrapped when she was fifteen, Alaska _was_ a very young ship. Also, footie pajamas were _super_ comfy and Alaska would unironically wear them on patrol if she could.

That was beside the point, though. Alaska wasn't merely eating her breakfast, she was observing the former carrier who she'd adopted as her mother. Sara had finally learned not to hunch over so much in front of the television, but for hours she'd accidentally hit a button with her breast and then be very confused about why her character did something she didn't expect. She'd eventually figured it out though, complete with an exasperated "Oh, my God~" delivered to nobody in particular.

A few faeries were resting on her shoulders – and one very smug gunner's mate was reclining in the battlecruiser's excessive supply of cleavage. Alaska was too far away to make it out clearly, but from Sara's irritated reactions they were trying to back-seat play.

"Morning, Alaska." Daniel Stewart, the man who was closer to being Alaska's adoptive dad than any man – save the Admiral and Cameron's dad – smiled at her with his meager breakfast all laid out on a tray.

"Hello," Alaska drew out the last syllable a bit in the hopes of disguising her ploy. It was a very effective disguise. She was so practiced in not knowing what was going on or what she was doing that she could _act_ like it at a moment's notice. After a second's wait, she put on a pout and subtly pushed her plushie forwards.

"And hello, Wash," Stewart, to his credit, didn't skip a beat. He smiled and gave the little doll a pat on her felt-covered head.

"Thank you," said Alaska with a giggle.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Stewart set his tray on the table and idly buttered a slice of toast.

"Hmm?" Alaska knit her snowy brows in confusion and let her mouth stay slightly ajar as the question mark slipped from her lips.

"I got a text from you this morning."

Alaska shook her head. "I don't think so…" She shrugged and fished her phone from her pocket. Her _real_ phone, not the burner she'd had Texas help her rig up. After fumbling in her lock code and stumbling her way through the menus, she got to her message log. "Yeah, no message."

"Huh," Stewart shrugged.

"Sorry," said Alaska.

"'s nothing," Stewart took a bite of toast. "Don't mind being on the base anyhow."

"Cameron visits me all the time," said Alaska, subtly implying a ship's significant other was welcome on the premises.

"So I've heard."

Alaska purred at the thought of Cameron cuddling her. Cameron cuddling was like wearing footie pajamas on a cool evening, only it smelled better and brought with it a possibility of potato wedges. "Do you know video games?" she asked.

"Pardon?"

"Video games," said Alaska innocently. "Cameron's shown me a few, but…" she shrugged. "I'm not sure what Sara's playing. And she was too invested for me to wanna ask."

"Well…" Stewart set his toast down. "I'm not much of a gamer anymore, but…" he trailed off, and a smile forced its way unbidden onto his face. "Heh…look at that."

Alaska wasn't sure if he meant the situation in general, or Sara in particular. She hoped it was the latter. "Hmm?" she said innocently.

"Sorry," Stewart was blushing, but didn't seem to care. "That's, uh, _Skies of Arcadia._ I used to love that game."

"I think Sara loves it, too," said Alaska with just the right level of innocence to spout out-of-the-mouths-of-babes wisdom. "She's been playing it since I came down."

"Really?" Stewart smiled a lopsided grin that didn't really fit on his face, but tried its best anyway.

"Yeah," said Alaska. "For _hours_. I haven't seen her eat much."

"Huh," said Stewart. Everyone knows how hungry capital ships could get.

"And they have cinnamon rolls today too," said Alaska. "Her favorite."

"Really…" Stewart glanced over at the serving line.

"I was gonna get her some, but 'tago wanted me to save a seat while she did her hair," subtly implying that she'd have company soon enough and Stewart didn't have to feel obligated to sit with her.

"That's nice of you," said Stewart, too enthralled in watching Sara's sun-kissed body hunched over her controller with her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth to catch on.

Alaska sighed. Some people needed it spoon-fed to them. "If you're going that way, could you grab me one?" she asked, hoping to stir him into action.

"Huh?" Stewart blinked. "Oh yeah, no problem."

"Thank you!" said Alaska. "And one for Wash, please."

"You got it," Stewart ruffled Alaska's snowy hair and made for the cinnamon rolls. Atago came wandering in almost the moment he got up, and just like they'd rehearsed Alaska flagged her down. While Stewart was up, Atago took his place across from Alaska.

"Here you go," Stewart handed Alaska a small plate of frosted rolls – and picked the smallest one out for Wash.

"Oh," Atago let out a little gasp and put a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry, did I take your seat?"

For a moment, the world slowed to a crawl. Alaska was on the edge of her seat waiting for Stewart to respond. Not literally of course, she was carefully maintaining her quiet, confused large cruiser image on Stewart's behalf.

Then Stewart glanced past the bubbly blond cruiser to the flagship of his heart. "Nah, I was gonna talk to Sara."

Atago smiled. "Have fun!"

Stewart was already on his way. And while his back was turned, for just the briefest fraction of an instant, Alaska and Atago shared a sly grin.

—|—|—

As usual, Sarah Gale was eating. It seemed like that was all she ever did nowadays. Sure, sometimes she'd do some paperwork or read some destroyers their bedtime stories _while_ she ate. But the only time the sailor didn't have something edible within arm's reach was when she slept. And even then, she usually woke up famished and made herself a hearty breakfast before she was even fully conscious.

That in and of itself didn't bother her; she was pregnant after all, pregnant with the child of another woman who was also a battleship. The little tyke – or tykes; Borie was _certain_ she was having twins at least, and thus far no doctor had been able to prove the little shit wrong – was as hungry as her mother. Or…her _other_ mother, that is. Gale has happy to make sure her growing child was well-fed.

It helped that Gale never really felt _starving._ True, almost the moment she stopped eating she started feeling peckish again, but it was a mere nagging feeling that she could ignore if she had to. Not like Wash, or any battleship for that matter. She'd seen shipgirl hunger pangs first-hand once, but she knew they were bad enough to reduce the normally stoic Wash to tears. Compared to that, feeling a mildly under-filled was a gentle burden to bear.

The frustrating part was that no matter how much Gale ate, her stomach didn't change in the slightest. Her appetite had almost tripled, her tummy felt like it was perpetually full of lead shot, and she spent every waking moment munching on something or other. But her belly was still as flat as it had been the day Wash proposed!

Mutsu had gotten obviously, visibly pregnant almost on day one! Even Wash was showing in her own refined, understated way! At this point, Gale would've settled with a bloated food-baby from all the spinach she'd been devouring if only it gave the world some unmistakable display, some message to all who looked up on her that she was indeed carrying the love of her life's child!

But no. The universe had decided _her_ baby would be anonymous. She knew she shouldn't be so caught up in appearances, but…dammit…she wanted the world to know!

"Hey, Sarah." Yeoman Bowers smirked a devilish, vaguely submarine-like smirk. A far less heavily-loaded tray was balanced on one hand, with a tall mug of coffee in the other.

"Jen," Gale stared enviously at the coffee. She'd cut herself off from the gritty brown beverage that had once made up more of her blood than actual blood. Nobody could tell her if a baby shipgirl would be harmed by caffeine – including Vestal, who was looking increasingly queasier the more she read about childbirth – but Gale could never forgive herself it she accidentally harmed her and Wash's child.

Bowers took a long, slow sip that made Gale's mouth water. "How's the kiddo?"

"Hungry." Gale waved at the mountain of salad she was slowly working through. "How's working for Jersey?"

Bowers shrugged. "You know her tits got bigger?"

"Oh, goddammit." Gale ceremonially buried her face in her salad and screamed into the leaves. Jersey's figure _was_ the unrealistic body standard feminism had railed against for so long. But at least her chest wasn't quite proportionate. Or at least it hadn't been.

Bowers chuckled, and reached over to gently stroke Gale's hair. "There, there, Sarah."

"She's going to be _insufferable_ ," moaned Gale.

"She wasn't already?"

Gale slowly pulled her face out of her lunch. "Okay…that's…accurate."

"Besides," Bowers shrugged and popped a cheese puff into her mouth. How she managed to stay so skinny when all Gale had ever seen her eat was junk was a mystery she'd been promoted too far to understand. "She's good people. You know the first order she gave me was to arrange a tour of Flying Heritage for Shina?"

Gale cocked her eyebrows. "Really?"

Bowers nodded. "Even made sure I knew to pick a slow day, so the poor girl doesn't get spooked by the crowd."

"She _does_ know Musashi's on base, right?" said Gale. "Didn't even want to brag."

"Well…" Bowers shrugged. "Yes. But she's got priorities."

—|—|—

Meanwhile in the base library, battleship Musashi hunched over _Military Blunders of the Imperial Japanese Navy (Volume IX, 1943-44)_. It was, much to her chagrin, an immense book filled with unbiased and exquisitely detailed breakdowns of each and everything her beloved country had done wrong during the war.

Her blood boiled as she devoured the words. Her teeth grit until she tasted copper and steel, her hands balled into fists with only the sturdy leather of her finger less gloves saving her palms from the savaging her fingernails would've inflicted. It enraged her that some foreigner would spill so much ink over the failings of a country that, for all intents and purposes, had ceased to exist decades before he was even born.

But every time she felt ready to snap, when she _knew_ she'd tear the book into a pile of flaming confetti if she read one more word, she screwed up her eyes and thought of home. She thought of the country she loved. A country now facing an enemy far more terrible than even the mighty US Navy. A country that _would_ fall again if they allowed the mistakes of yesterday to happen again. And this time, there would be no MacArthur to save it.

To save her country, the fiercely patriotic battleship had to destroy it. Or at least…destroy the pedestal upon which it stood.

"Yo, Mushi."

Musashi's chocolate features split in a sly grin. She'd know that rough, dusky contralto anywhere. It was a voice dripping in firer oil and the stench of gunpowder and gasoline, a voice whose owner had recently become unattached in the romantic sense.

"Mmm," Musashi slowly closed the book. "New Jersey," she said, pushing her glasses up her slender nose. "It's good to see you again."

The towering American said something, but Musashi honestly didn't hear a word. Her crew was too busy struggling frantically to clear for action and stem the hammer of progressive flooding before half her precious oil came flowing out her nose.

New Jersey had _changed_ since the last time Musashi laid eyes on her. Her hair was longer than even before, the tips a more vibrant red. But that was only secondary to the singular defining change that defined the American's refit.

Musashi and Jersey – or rather, their respective classes – were two of a kind. Not just battleships, but _the_ battleships. The _last_ battleships. The ultimate expression of the concept of an armored fighting ship. The be-all, end-all, last-word in total naval gunfire supremacy.

Yes, in Musashi's personal and objectively correct opinion, the _Yamato_ class was vastly superior to their American counterparts in every meaningful and/or conceivable way. But she would admit without reservation that the American titans had a place beside (and only _slightly_ below) her and her sister as ships that superior to all else the oceans could offer.

That assumption, however, had been challenged the first time she laid eyes on New Jersey in the flesh. The American was fast, yes. Strong and tall with fine lines and a monstrous propulsion plant growling away beneath her rippling middle. But her main battery left…something to be desired.

Musashi knew the American's long-barreled sixteens were inferior to her own forty-centimeter special-type rifles. But when she first saw New Jersey's rather pathetic endowment, even _she_ couldn't believe her Type 94's were truly that much better.

That was no longer the case, however. The American had changed on her last deployment. Musashi had to assume the healing hot springs of her home had worked magic that American industry could simply not comprehend.

Jersey's chest had filled out _magnificently._ So perfect were the American's breasts, so mathematically precise was their gentle wobble and jiggle with each breath, so entrancing was their beauty, that Musashi couldn't even force herself to tear her gaze away to the Iowa's shockingly blue eyes.

"Ay!" Jersey grabbed the zipper of Musashi's shirt and abruptly yanked it up. The Japanese battleship's rifles were too objectively and undeniably awesome for her shirt to ever close over them, of course. But the Iowa's immense strength was at least enough to get the forged steel teeth to bite painfully into Musashi's chocolate skin.

"Ow!" Musashi shrieked in pain, but for some reason none of the sailors sharing the building with her tried to shush her. "This!" She stopped her roaring fury and sheepishly waved an apology. "Pardon," she continued at a stage whisper. "This Musashi will not tolerate such insolence."

"Says the boat struck dumb by American tiddy," Jersey cupped her breasts with her hand and squished her mighty mark sevens together. "Not that I blame you."

Musashi pouted, forcing her stare to bore into Jersey's icy eyes. "Have you come simply to torture me?"

Jersey chuckled. "That's always fun, innit? But no. Shina and I are gonna hit the flight museum soon, figured you'd like to come."

"I…" Musashi bit her lip and glanced back at the mountain of reading material she still had to get through. "Perhaps –"

"No," Jersey planted her hands on her hips. "It's your sister, you're coming."

"Hmm," Musashi crossed her arms and nodded. A moment later, she dipped her chin and smiled. "Thank you, Jersey. For inviting me."

The American shrugged, now it was her time to glance at her toes. "Eh…'s the least I could do. By the way…"

"Yes?" said Musashi.

"Think you could talk to your admiral about something?"

Musashi cocked a snowy eyebrow. "About what?"

—|—|—

Battleship Kirishima yawned as she walked aimlessly through the base. Wash had, predictably, torn off on a direct Gale-wardly course the instant they'd finished their debrief, but Kirishima couldn't decide what she wanted to do. Unlike her best friend – or her beloved big sister, for that matter – Kirishima didn't have a lover to welcome her home.

At least…

Kirishima bit her lip, lazily turning to port for no particular reason. She _liked_ Crowning, she really did. He was sweet and gentle, and always made the big battleship feel safe and secure. She might even say she loved him. Maybe. What she couldn't tell was if he loved her back. It certainly seemed like he did, but at the same time, he was as gentle and kind with _all_ the ships at Everett!

It was part of the reason Kirishima felt so secure when she was around him, and she wouldn't trade it for the world. But she had to admit, it made this whole relationship game vastly harder to piece together.

Of course, there was also –

"'Shima!" Heavy footsteps pounded against the concrete behind her. Kirishima looked around only to see a towering American Amazon smash into her at upwards of thirty knots. She had just enough time to contemplate why this _kept happening to her_ before she landed hard in the grass with fifty thousand tons of American iron atop her and two half-gloved hands planted squarely on her tightly-bound breasts.

"Uh…" Jersey bit her lip and tore her hands away with a blush. "Sorry about that."

Kirishima coughed. "W-wha?"

"Look, I needed to catch you 'fore you and…" the big Iowa trailed off. "Anyways, I know about you and Crowning."

Kirishima's eyes went wide. "Jersey, no –"

"Lemme finish," said Jersey. "I know…and I don't blame you. He's a good guy, and…and I didn't want him waiting on me to get someone he loved into his bed."

"Jersey, I swear –"

"I said _let me fucking finish_!" snapped Jersey. "Do you know how fucking hard it is for me to say this? I love him, alright? I still do. But…I'm not good for him, you are. Okay? Just…be good to him." She closed her eyes with a scowl. "Or I swear to SecNav I'll rape you to death with your own fucking keel."

Kirishima blinked. She'd never been so touched by such a violent an imaginative threat. "Jersey…I…I like him, yes. I think every ship here does."

"Hell yeah you do," said Jersey.

"But…" Kirishima gingerly smoothed her nontraditional _miko_ blouse. "I've known him for a few weeks. That's…that's not enough to build a relationship on. Not really."

Jersey blinked, then flopped onto the grass next to the littlest Kongo. "Fuck," she cursed under her breath. "Stupid fucking excuse for a fast battleship."

"Jersey?"

"Not you," said the American. "Just…go. I'm gonna…fucking…wallow here for a bit."

—|—|—

"I'm sorry," Vice Admiral Samuel Williams glanced up from his paperwork in stone-faced shock. "You want _what_?"

Across the desk, battleship New Jersey stood at parade-ground perfect attention. Her hands were smartly by her sides, the zipper on her vest was lined up neatly with the massive buckle of her gun belt, her eyes were locked on the horizon, and her shoulders were squared and steady. To be honest, Williams was quite pleased by how she'd shaped up after her talking to in Japan.

He'd hoped her outburst had been a one-time occurrence, an outlier cause by the extraordinary trying circumstances of learning her littlest sister had died while she was away at sea – and at Christmas no less! And thus far, he'd been right. She was still the same loud, brash battleship as before. But from what he'd heard, she'd been going above and beyond to look after her fleet – especially young Shinano.

However, all those hopes he had for his mightiest battleship had died a quick but extraordinarily painful death mere moments before. His last shred of hope that he might somehow retire with his sanity vanished when he looked at the beautifully-typed and thoroughly official-looking paperwork the Iowa had handed him.

"Sir," Jersey puffed her chest out, muscles in her monstrous thighs visibly tensing with nervous energy. "I want to fuck Musashi."

Williams scowled and glanced at the paper in his hands. A very official request – in writing – for permission to have carnal relations with a warship of an allied country. Yes, that is still what it said. "Jersey…" The admiral sighed, rubbing at the migraine that hadn't fully gone away for three years.

"Sir," Jersey bit her lip. "With all due respect, I have the libido of almost three thousand men. And she is _real damn hot._ "

"I'm aware, Jersey."

"And last time was a mistake," said the Iowa. "If you say no, that's it." She planted her hands on her hips and scowled. "If I don't get your express permission, in writing, that's it. I ignore it and never bring this up again."

Williams pursed his lips and stared at the mighty amazon before him. Under normal circumstances, he'd never have humored a request like this from one of his sailors – let alone one of his _ships_. But that was before sea monsters rose. Before ships were girls.

Jersey noticed his moment of hesitation. She wanted to speak, to argue her case. He could see it eating her up inside. Finally, she could hold her tongue no longer. "Sir, I've talked with Musashi. She's already cleared this with Goto."

Williams nodded, only mildly worried that one of his warships telling him she'd gotten _another_ warship's admiral to approve of a sexual relation between them didn't even _register_ as unusual. "That so?"

"Yes, sir." Jersey fished a file from under her arm. Somehow. Williams was pretty certain it hadn't been there a moment ago. "Signed and approved."

"Mmm," Williams scanned over the paperwork. He couldn't read Japanese as good as he liked, but it _did_ resemble official JMSDF paperwork he'd seen before, and the signature matched Goto's.

"Sir?" Jersey rocked on her heels, looking eerily more like a nervous schoolgirl than an Amazonian incarnation of naval might.

"Commander," Williams scribbled his signature. "You have my permission."

—|—|—

 **Uploader's Note: Well, that was a long chapter. You guys sure are spoiled ;)**

 **It had nothing to do with the fact that I couldn't decide where to cut it off. Nope,** _ **never**_ **had that problem. Never.**

 **On the other hand, I did promise some action (in more ways than one) last time and….I kinda lied, so I made it longer than my planned schedule to make up for it. *coughing ensues***

 **Caboose Out**


	15. Omake 1:Why NOT have a Kongo figma?

**Omake- Things to do in NAVSTA Everett when you're TDY**  
By: Baofengyu

* * *

"Commander?"

 _How the hell is a 5"/38 DP going to replace the Independence class's bow mounted 57mm? Have they lost their minds?_

"Commander?"

 _A Freedom class would be a better place for that_ , He mused. _Mount a pair of dual 5"/38 DPs and some additional AA and you might get a decent Fletcher analogue out it. The Independence class is more suited to being a torpedo boat…_

"SIR!"

Ichiro looked up from his desk in one of the open offices at the Headquarters building at the Petty Officer 1st Class that stood at the door. She was dressed in the standard BDU, a tablet PC in her arms, and wore the expression of a long suffering, often neglected, NCO of the United Stated Navy.

"Something I can do for you Sailor?"

"Just checking in on you sir," She replied. "It is kind of late."

"Just finishing up some work," He replied, focusing on her rank, taking note of her rating. "Yeoman?"

"Petty Officer Jennifer Bowers sir," She replied. "I have just been assigned as Commander New Jersey's Yeoman."

"Ah. I do not envy your job Yeoman, not especially after 'The Tweet Hear 'round the World'." Ichiro took a drink.

"Things have been quiet since Naka started policing her tweets. Musashi's as well." Jennifer replied. "Oh, Lt. St. Lo has been looking for you."

"St. Lo?" Ichiro frowned, then remembered the little escort carrier sortied out of Everett for convoy duties. "Was there a particular reason the Lieutenant was looking for me?"

"Personally I think it a bit of hero worship sir, with you being a Top Gun graduate and all." She replied. "It may also be in relation to your actions during the loss of Carrier Strike Group 2."

He blinked.

 _"Avenger Actual, this is Pride Lead. We are approaching the last known coordinates of the Emma Maersk."_

"Roger Pride Lead. Be advised Super Fudd and two MH-60Rs on station."

"Eyes on target," 'Bad' replied. "We have a lot of debris on site Avenger, and…what the hell is that?"

"Sir?"

Ichiro leaned back in his chair. "Just a…memory."

She entered the small office to stand by his desk. "Are you sure Commander? You blanked out for a moment and-"

Her eyes fell on the small sketchbook.

"Is that?"

"What attacked the Bush?" Ichiro sighed. "Yes."

"It looks…sad?"

"You would forgive me if my memory of that is…fuzzy."

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't realize-"

Ichiro froze.

 _"Gettysburg Actual to all ships. Intermittent contacts bearing 231 degrees. Can anyone confirm?"_

"Truxtun Actual to all ships, possible sonar contacts bearing 087 degrees."

"Avenger Actual to all ships, sound general quarters. Scramble all birds, repeat, scram-"

"Pride Lead to all Lions, Fangs OUT!"

"Anzio Actual to all stations. Avenger is down, repeat, Avenger is down! We are taking fire from hostile contacts bearing 240 degrees! Contact have some sort of stea-"

Jennifer leaned to the side uncomfortably as the Commander seemed to drift off. It was a look she had encountered many times in dealing with some of the veterans in the past, and the 'Blood Week' as it has been called only made matters worse. She knew his story.

Everyone knew his story.

One of only seventy-eight survivors of Carrier Strike Group Two in the opening hours of the Abyssal War, who managed to shoot down six enemy aircraft during the battle that saw the destruction of the USS George H.W. Bush, who lost his lower leg and foot after having to ditch his fighter, presumably to one of those monstrous 'Imp' class destroyers. He spent three days in the water until a friendly ship was able to recover him and the rest of the survivors. It was the largest naval disaster since Pearl, only overmatched by the total loss of the PLAN.

And it left wounds. There wasn't a sailor on base who hasn't been affected by the war, who hasn't lost someone, or survived a battle. Even the shipgirls suffered, and while some managed to handle it better than others, the brass recruited a lot of shrinks to help ease some of the pain. While he wasn't formally attached to Adm. William's command, she did manage to peak at his service record and history. She knew he still had family in Japan, his parents and a sister. His mother an American agricultural researcher who had been working to improve crop yields and his father a farmer with a rather storied family history. They were contributing to the war effort in their own way, his sister enlisted in the JMSDF and was currently serving onboard the JMSDFS _Hatsuyuki_ defending northern Japan from the Ominato Fleet Base.

She needed to change the subject.

"Commander?" She projected.

He blinked, then focused on her.

"If you don't mind me asking Commander, what Kanmusu do you think we should try to summon next?"

"The Des Moines sisters," Ichiro replied. "If Crowning was correct in his theories about battleships being the 'Queens of the Sea' regaining their title, then the Des Moines must be the Princesses."

"Your reasoning sir?"

"They were designed to fight in World War II, and while three of the sisters were built and served, only CA-148 ever saw action in Vietnam. They were gunfighters...and we are in the middle of a gunfighter war. Then again, maybe we'll get lucky and 'find' a warehouse full of 8" autoloaders like the Army 'found' a truckload of Norden bombsights."

"You mean the rumors were true?"

"About the bombsights? The Army found them right after the war started. They've been sitting on them until the JCS ordered them turned over to the Chair Force right before I left Philly. Last I heard they were going to try refitting some of the 'Glass Nose' B-52s with those sights."

"I can think of a few places that could use seventy thousand pounds of freedom delivered."

"That's the Chair Force's deal. Right now supporting Kanmusu operations takes precedence, and that means getting these refits approved and implemented for the fleet."

"Yes sir," Bowers replied. "If I may ask what you have planned?"

"We can get a decent analogue of the old 5"/38s in single and dual mounts manufactured right now. The problem is that someone had a wild hair about sticking a 5"/38 on an Independence class in place of the 57mm."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Indeed. The Independence is more suited for a torpedo and support frigate role than a gun platform. The Freedom class is more suited to being refitted with a pair of dual 5"/38s in a bow and aft configuration since the Freedom is a thousand tons heavier than a Fletcher."

"And this is going to be happening at Pearl?"

"The USS _Jackson_ is on her way to Pearl. With Pearl being fully reactivated for the duration, which is where we start, although any real changes will be made at the yards stateside. Once the Kanmusu support modules are finalized we can see about making further changes to the LCS program."

The Yeoman looked thoughtful.

"One last question sir."

"Go ahead."

"Why do you have a collectible figma of Kongou?"

* * *

Up-loader's Note: I think I've FINALLY gotten used to the line break system here. Why it doesn't carry from Word, I have no idea.  
This story is catching up to the forums rather quickly, but I think we are fit for a treat. Again, credit goes to Baofengyu, it's THEIR story.

Now for a favor to ask; I've been working on my 'Confused (Aircraft) Carriers fic, slightly related to this story (at least character wise). My initial plot line, Pearl Harbor, is nearly finished, and I need to know _if_ I can go past that successfully, and _what_ you readers would like. I aim to please, so check it out and let me know. Battles, characters, etc; I'm all ears.

Now, enough from me,

Caboose out


	16. Chapter 15: Pringles, Yasen(?) and Beer

Heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen, formerly of the Kriegsmarine, but now thoroughly and happily invited into the United States Navy, walked back from the commissary with a smile on her sharply Teutonic face. It was a truly gorgeous evening to be out and about. The gentle wind rustled her precisely-abbreviated micro skirt like an artisanal wind chime, and fat droplets of cool Washington rain kissed her bare thighs.

The cruiser puffed out her chest and took in the distinctly naval-smelling air. Salt and oil danced together in the flavor of…of home. She was ashore under friendly guns with her squadron mates waiting for her in her room. The latter made the big cruiser the happiest.

"Mmm," Prinz Eugen licked her spoon clean and plunged it back into the single-serving cup of vanilla pudding she'd picked up on the way out. She'd never really thought of herself as a 'dessert' kind of girl – not that she'd though of herself as _any_ kind of girl until recently – but she'd come to enjoy pudding very much.

She couldn't explain why, not even if you gave her a notarized form and seven colors of ink. Something about the sweet confection made her feel comfortable, it was like a cuddle from Frisco but in edible form.

Pudding was, of course, not the only thing she'd picked up. The shopping bag slung over her shoulder contained a few tubes of Pringles chips – Prinz Eugen had Jane to thank for introducing her to the delightfully efficient packaging. And…and…also the chips were good too – some sausages and mustard, and of course a few movies.

It seemed like half the base was convinced Prinz Eugen, Lou, and Frisco were having lesbian threesomes whenever they were left alone in a room together, but that couldn't be further from the truth. When she got back to her room, something as carnal as sex was the furthest thing from Prinz Eugen's mind.

She just wanted to cuddle under the warmth of a _kotatsu_ with her division mates and watch a movie. Although she did admit, having Frisco use her ample – and, Frisco was always quick to point out, _not_ Treaty compliant – upper-works as a pillow made the Hipper feel even happier.

"Sup, Puddin'." The monstrously towering figure of New Jersey waved at Prinz Eugen. The immense American had an unusual spring in her usually so-lazy sashay. Her face was stuck in a lopsided grin that didn't fit very easily on her predatory face, and under her arm she had tucked –

" _Mein_ _Gott!_ " Prinz Eugen's pudding cup fell from her hands in shock. Under normal circumstances, she tried to speak English around her friends. A show of thanks and good faith to a country that had taken her in when her own Fatherland wanted nothing to do with her. But for all her attempts to assimilate, Prinz Eugen was still German at heart. Certain things were too horrifying to be discussed in anything but her mother tongue.

"Eh?" Jersey grunted and hefted the box curled under her massive arm. The big blue box with 'Bud Lite' printed on the side. "Picking up some beer for a thing."

"Jersey…" Prinz Eugen had to bite her tongue, lest her passions overwhelm her and she slap her commanding officer square across the mouth. "That!" She thrust a quivering finger at the bright blue case, her accent so thick you could bounce a Soviet 85-mm. with it. " _Mein Gott in Himmel!_ That is _NOT BEER!_ "

"It's close enough," said Jersey with a shrug. "Just gonna –"

" _NEIN!_ " Shrieked Prinz Eugen. Her heels clicked together in reflexive Prussian discipline, her vision a smear of red. "This!" She tore the case from Jersey's arm with a roar. "Belongs!" She pivoted on her heel and hurled the case into the nearest dumpster. "There!"

"Okay…" grumbled Jersey with through but mild annoyance. "I was gonna drink some of…that."

"No," Prinz Eugen rounded on Jersey, glowering at the hugely taller American with all the virulent fury her Germanic features could muster. Which was a lot. "You have been…all of you have been…" Her accent was thick and strong enough now to invade Poland with, "This country had been good to me! I will _not_ allow you to drink that…that _piss-wasser!_ "

Jersey rolled her eyes, "Pringles, I'm seriously just gonna –"

"No!" Prinz Eugen would have none of it. She grabbed the battleship's wrist and tore off for the commissary at flank. Or at least tried to, her triple shafts might push _her_ through the water at a good clip, but Jersey was a titanic-ally heavy anchor not interested in moving. "Come…" she panted and put her back into one more herculean tug. "Ooooonn!"

"Fucking fine," Jersey allowed herself to be towed. "But you're paying."

—|—|—

Battleship Musashi knew Jersey was at the door even before she hammered her fist against the flimsy wood. She could hear the floor creaking and groaning under the massive American's immense weight, and smell Jersey's sweet, but gritty and ever so slightly smoky aroma. Musashi was certain even holding a gun to her head wouldn't get the Iowa to wear perfume, but that didn't matter. She smelled perfectly nice as is.

"Come in," Musashi spun in her chair. Her meaty chocolate thighs were crossed, and she waited just a moment too long to pull her unbuckled miniskirt smooth. Her shirt hung off her shoulders, letting the finest naval rifles the world had ever seen breath free for the first time since she'd visited the States.

She understood why the prudish Americans wanted her to stay clothed while in their country. A glimpse of the unfiltered majesty of her mighty eighteens would torpedo the American birthrate as every man gave up everything to move to Japan and every woman struggled with crippling inadequacy issues, a fate Musashi would never wish on her new ally.

But against Jersey…giving the big Iowa a few inadequacy issues would be fun. If nothing else, it might deflate the arrogant American's opinion of herself to something more reasonable.

Jersey didn't so much open the door as shoulder through it. She carried a case of beer under one arm – Musashi didn't recognize the brand, but the packaging looked obscure enough to be better than the usual American piss water. Musashi was certain she had help, the American's taste wasn't that refined.

Under the other she carried a box full of snacks – Doritos, the red color with dust Naka had judged "the STD of food products", and a few bottles of Gatorade. Musashi was pleased her estimation of Jersey's taste had been correct.

"Mushi," Jersey grunted and unceremoniously dumped the collection onto Musashi's heavily-reinforced bed. A king-size mattress – the only size that could fit a battleship as titanic-ally massive as the second Yamato – stood on massive steel pilings that could – barely – support her weight.

"Jersey," Musashi smirked and slowly uncrossed her legs. "How long's it been for you?"

"Too long." The American rocked on her heels, rolling her massive shoulders to work out the last few knots in those admittedly envious muscles.

"Mmm," Musashi set her features in a coy smirk and slowly stood, her enormous pagodas taking a split-second to catch up with the rest of her imperially perfect figure. She let her fingers trail along the armrest of her chair for a moment before settling her hands on her hips. "Shall we…" she slowly circled the American, letting the shirt she wore like a cape trail along Jersey's bare wrist. "commence a night engagement?"

"No," Jersey rolled her terrifyingly icy eyes. "Let's fuck." In an instant, her hands were on Musashi's jaw, holding the Japanese battleship in place like a cast-iron vice with a quarter-million American horsepower. Musashi had just enough time to widen her eyes when Jersey's lips crashed into hers with a brutally forceful kiss.

There was nothing romantic about the coupling. There was no love or passion in what Jersey did, just a raw imperial need to apply overwhelming force. When the two battleships' lips met, it was with an ear-shattering roar of tearing metal, buckling girders, and splintering wood.

Jersey towered over the already towering Yamato, looming over her with both hands squeezing Musashi's cheeks. But it only took a split-second for the Japanese battleship's warrior instincts to take over. She grabbed Jersey by her massive triceps, struggling against the American's vastly more powerful grasp and forcing her tongue down Jersey's throat.

The Iowa's eyes went wide, and she redoubled her attack. This time, it was _her_ tongue that was forced unbidden past Musashi's chocolate lips, but the Yamato was ready. Her jaw clamped down with a hundred-fifty thousand horsepower of quad-shifted triple-bladed might.

"Motherfucker!" Jersey tore her face away with a furious howl. Her teeth were already stained red from blood pouring from her lacerated tongue. Musashi tasted copper. She smiled, the missing sliver of Jersey's tongue held mockingly between her bloodstained teeth. She spat it out, relishing the wet squelch when it smashed into Jersey's collarbone and bounced into her immense cleavage.

"I'm sorry," Musashi put her hands on the American's broad hips. "Am I too much battleship for you?" Instantly, she leveraged Jersey's momentarily distraction to haul the Iowa's massive body in close against hers. Again, steel crashed against steel in a cacophonous roar utterly devoid of passion and romance.

Her mighty eighteens smashed into Jersey's rounder but dimensionally inferior main battery, forcing them aside with ease. The super-sixteens might be good guns, but they bowed in reverent awe before the mightiest naval rifles the world had ever or will ever see.

Musashi tore at the Iowa's clothes. Her vest zipper exploded in a shower of forged metal teeth leaving only the American's t-shirt and Musashi's _sarashi_ separating their metal flesh. She pressed in for a kiss, slamming Jersey against the wall hard enough to utterly disintegrate drywall and shatter several joists. The two battleships tore at each other with their teeth, each in a race to savage the other until they could again open to main battery range.

Jersey grabbed Musashi by the shoulders and shoved her off with all her might, sending the Japanese battlewagon collapsing onto her bed. The American's mouth was split in a grin consisting seemingly only of razor-sharp incisors. Blood pooled between her teeth and she had to spit out a mouthful before she could speak.

"Oh…" Jersey stalked towards the bed, already lifting her shirt over her head. Eight boilers glistened in shocking relief against her pale skin, sinuous muscle backing a thin, but angled and metallurgically superb armor belt. "You're a _feisty_ one." She spat out one of her own teeth, or maybe it was one of Musashi's…

The Japanese warship stared at the half-naked American with equal parts awe and fury. Her own bandages had come off somewhere in the fight, and now both battleships were rigged for night action. Their searchlights were mounted and manned, mighty beams tearing through the night to seek out targets.

"YAMATO!" Musashi hurled herself to her feet, propelling herself like a cannonball into Jersey. "DAMASHI!" Her hands closed around the American's chest, fingernails digging into firm American flesh deep enough to draw blood. Her lips locked with Jersey's, and again boarding parties did their dance of death.

Jersey responded with a brutal punch to the gut, sending Musashi reeling. "'Murica!" She roared, grabbing a handful of Musashi's immense bosom and twisting with all her might. "Fuck yeah!"

Musashi howled in pain and fell to her knees. Which only gave her the advantage. Among the many flaws of the Iowa class – at least compared to the true exemplar of battleship perfection, the Yamato class – was a shockingly fragile torpedo defense scheme. Musashi roared and threw her fist into the American's substandard underwater protection. Her punch landed square in the Iowa's shaft galleries, eliciting a roar of agony.

Jersey grabbed Musashi by the shoulders and hauled her to her feet with near effortless ease. "Fuck." She shoved the battleship against her own bed, bending her over backwards over the foot of the mattress as she forced a kiss down Musashi's throat. "You!"

"You're trying!" Hissed Musashi, spitting a mouthful of blood that could as easily be Jersey's as hers. "Not working!"

Jersey roared and threw Musashi onto the bed proper. An instant later she was atop the Japanese boat. The massive steel bed frame gave out with a roar of metal stressed far beyond its breaking point. The bed collapsed to the floor hard enough to gouge vast scars in the concrete and tint the air with dust. Jersey's arms held Musashi's down by the wrists. Her massive thighs were planted on Musashi's, her back arched at a murderous curve to bring her lips into contact.

Musashi squished her head back against her pillow, only to swing it back in a vicious headbutt. Jersey reeled, skin over her brow torn open down to the steel. Blood poured from her face, splashing against Musashi's glasses and streaking her snowy hair with red. "NIPPON!"

Jersey roared and kissed Musashi again. "AMERICA!"

Musashi tore her face away just long enough to thunder her beloved country's name with every scrap of air her lungs contained. The instant later, her lips met again in a kiss. Her back arched to bring her mighty batteries into action against the American's rippling belt. "NIPPON!"

—|—|—

"Oh, my God!" Sarah Gale rolled over in bed and squeezed her pillow against her head, hoping to somehow block out the sound. She'd been looking forwards to her reunion with Wash, to the first night they'd spend together since Wash's patrol. She'd cleaned the bedroom up, gotten some nice candles, even a pair of lacy panties she was eager to try out.

But it was _impossible_ to stay in the mood when she couldn't even hear herself _think_ over what sounded exactly like two freight trains derailing, but _constantly._ About the only thing she could hear that _wasn't_ the spine-shredding cacophony of crashing metal were two voices – one a dusky contralto, the other a honey-smooth alto – screaming nationalistic insults loud enough to make the walls shake. For the past _four fucking hours._

"I" Gale squeezed her pillow tighter in a desperate attempt to drown out the sound. "Hate. _Everything._ "

—|—|—

Battleship New Jersey collapsed into the wreckage of what'd once been a queen-sized bed with a thunderous crash. Battered framework buckled under her immense weight, driving wedges into the ruined concrete that'd once made up the floor and filling the air with fine gray dust. She was naked, the only thing covering her vast, sinewy, and nautically perfect body was a thick film of sweat from nearly an hour of the most brutal quote "lovemaking" unquote imaginable.

Her mouth was full of hot blood and hotter oil, but she could barely taste the coppery bite with her mangled stump of a tongue. Teeth belonging to… someone… sloshed in the bloody slurry. She scowled, running the shredded organ that'd once been her tongue over the cool enamel. One of them was definitely hers, it had the same razor-sharp edges and fine face-hardened surface she was used to. The other was too badly mangled and distorted to even tell which end was which, which hinted towards it being Musashi's. American metallurgy was never so feeble.

Jersey spat them both out. She was a battleship, as was Musashi. Replacing a few teeth and scraps of tongue was such a minor repair it was hardly worth mentioning. It'd be done by the morning, if not earlier.

"Holy Hannah," Jersey ran the back of her hand across her bloody mouth. Her knuckles were torn open down to bare glistening steel, and she was flat-out missing the last joint of her ring finger. "So that's what sex is like."

"Mmm," Beside her, the naked chocolate form of Musashi purred in agreement. Her breasts heaved with each breath, vast and round and—Jersey felt compelled to mention—exceedingly jiggly. Her own super-sixteens were far more structurally sound, even without the help of her usual fitted bra.

It was strange, looking at the Yamato like this. She was utterly naked, with only the forged-iron clamps holding her snowy updo in place to garnish her impossibly feminine form. There wasn't so much as a shred of cloth hiding those monstrous rifles, dozen Kampon boilers, or mighty shafts from the American's cutting gaze.

Jersey felt certain that she _should_ be enraged by a primal lust, that she should want nothing more than to mount the Japanese super battleship like a conquer and rail her until she begged— _begged_ —to sign a formal surrender on the Iowa's own quarterdeck. But… she didn't.

Jersey spat out a mouthful of Japanese shaft oil, scowling at the putrid taste. Right now, what she wanted more than anything was to break out those beers Prinz Eugen had provided and put on a move. She'd picked out _Terminator 2_ from the base library, and she was eager to see how they beat Arnie this time around.

"Ara~Ara~" Musashi let out a purr dripping in pure refined sex. She crossed her deliciously creamy legs, momentarily hiding the shaft galleries Jersey had so ravaged with a coy smirk. "Spent so soon, American?"

Jersey flashed the teeth she had left in a predator's grin. Wisky was gone. Iowa was still a museum, a parts-hulk in all but name just waiting to die. Mo was… Mo wasn't here right now. Jersey was the only ship around to defend the honor of her class, of her country. She would do her duty, no matter the cost.

"Oh," Jersey rolled over, pinning Musashi's legs with her own and planting her arms against the Japanese girl's mighty forearms. "I could go all week," She bent down, planting a furious kiss on Musashi's lips with all the limitless might American Industrial Supremacy could bring to bear. Her breasts collided with the Yamato's mighty eighteens with a thunderous cacophony of metal-on-metal. "How 'bout you?"

Musashi didn't bother voicing a reply. Not that she could with Jersey's tongue so forcefully violating her mouth like Oppenheimer's light. She didn't need to, she arched her back, pressing her shafts against Jersey's trim—but startlingly sensitive—aft.

—|—|—

Meanwhile, elsewhere on the base, heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen was having a pleasant evening. Yes, she could barely hear herself think over the constant roar colliding metal and bellowed racial epithets, and barely coherent grunting, but that didn't matter to her one bit.

Frisco and Lou had managed to not only scrounge up a kotatsu for the room, but also found some delightfully soft and warm pajamas that fit even the German cruiser's decidedly non-treaty-compliant proportions. And, while looking for some proper beer to give New Jersey for…what she now realized was a social call less reliant on the quality of said beer than she first anticipated, she'd picked what was quite possibly the most delightful product of American consumer culture.

Pudding cups!

Prinz Eugen always loved it when they served pudding in the mess, and now she could have some whenever she wanted! The vanilla ones were her favorite thus far, although the chocolate swirl ones were a close second.

Of course, delicious as they were, pudding cups weren't the main reason this was such a fine evening. The main reason was that her two best friends in all the world were snuggled under the warmth of a heated Japanese table by her side. Lou was on the left, and Frisco on the right, both sound asleep against the soft pillow of her bosom.

Mmm, it was a good evening.

—|—|—

 **Uploader's Note:** Sorry for being somewhat later than I had planned (or am I?). PC Problems and Writers block has made me down, thus leading to my stories (and this one, by extension) to be sorta slow. Still following my schedule, but that's what it feels like.

Perhaps it's a bit shameless of me, but if you are bored waiting for updates (PM me and get me into gear if it's extreme), check out my own Kantai story.

Caboose Out


	17. Chapter 16: An Iowa Defeats a Yamato?

"'laska," Cameron tugged nervously at his tie and tried to smooth the black satin fabric against his chest. Under normal circumstances, he would've felt totally at home in a suit and tie. He wore the latter every Sunday, and he had the talented employees of his mom's bridal boutique – and…you know…his _mom_ – to help him with the former.

It wasn't often that he wore a suit, of course. At Cameron's age, opportunities to wear a nice suit without looking painfully ostentatious were few and far between – mostly Easter and of course Prom. But when he _did_ have to break out the nice threads, he always felt at ease in a nice, comfortable, fitted suit.

When his girlfriend-who-was-also-a-warship sent him a text – and several frantic voicemails – asking him to show up on-base 'looking nice' he'd been eager to show up and – hopefully – knock her socks off.

That was before he learned _she_ would be looking nice too. As in _full dinner-dress blues_ nice. As in 'the kind of outfit that took several tens of thousands of dollars and several _months_ of lead-time to acquire' nice. It made him feel painfully under-dressed just looking at her, which wasn't something he was used to feeling at all.

On the other hand…he _did_ have to admit, 'laska looked totally _gorgeous_ her in her uniform. Her long skirt and fitted gold cummerbund really showed off the curve of her hips, and the black of her coat really drew out the beautifully snowy glow of her long white hair.

"Are you, uh, _sure_ this is necessary?" said Cameron.

"Yeah," Alaska wrung her hands and stared at herself in the mirror. Or to be more accurate, she stared at the collection of medals on her lapel. In Cameron's opinion, it was a very nice collection. Maybe not as big as Texas' or Jersey's, but still a proud display of faithful service. Alaska, however, did not seem to share that opinion, and kept nervously fiddling with the little awards.

"'Laska," Cameron put aside his own discomfort to sneak up behind his girlfriend for a hug. He felt her fighting dissolve the moment his arms closed around her thin waist, but her nervous energy remained intact. "You look fine. Really."

"I…" Alaska sighed, her shoulders slumping as she leaned into her boyfriend's embrace. "I…I guess. But…" She turned, moving in Cameron's arms to face him. "I'm _really_ nervous."

"Don't be," said Cameron, trying not to think about how nervous _he_ was. "You'll do fine, I'm sure."

"I…I know," said Alaska with a blush. "But…you know who we're calling, right?"

Cameron shrugged. To be honest, that part of Alaska's breathless rambling had been impossible to decipher. "Some…Admiral's daughter from Japan, right?"

Alaska stared at her boyfriend with a flat glare. "N–no. Well, yes. But also…Jane is…basically boat _god_ right now."

Cameron chuckled. Alaska's nervousness was as endearingly adorable as everything else she did. He brushed her hair back and gave her the gentlest of kisses. "I'm sure you'll do fine." He said. "Now…how can I help?"

"Just…" Alaska blushed and smoothed her uniform. "It's about time. Can you start the call?"

"Of course." Cameron darted over to the laptop set up across the conference room. On paper, his only real job was to start the Skype call and change Alaska's slides. That, and provide his girlfriend with all the moral support she needed. He wouldn't have it any other way. "In five…four…" He held out fingers as he counted down. "Three…two…" he swallowed the last number and clicked the call button.

Alaska snapped to attention as the laptop filled with the image of an adorable girl in shark-themed pajamas apparently huddled on her bed. _"Hey, 'laska!"_

"Hi, Miss Richardson," said Alaska. "Uh…Jane?"

 _"Jane's fine,"_ said Jane Richardson. _"How's the Gulf?"_

Alaska shrugged, "I've got Cameron, so it's all good."

Jane giggled, and Cameron had to smile. _"So, you said you wanted my input on something?"_

"Yes," said Alaska with a nod. "I've been…well…me and 'tago have been running an operation here. Cameron?"

Cameron nodded, and pulled up the presentation onto the screen behind Alaska. The title card read "Operation: Get Mom Laid" with a subtitle "by 'laska and 'tago."

Jane giggled over the laptop. _"Lemme get my chart."_

—|—|—

Jane Richardson yawned as her two new friends from the Gulf finished their presentation. She had to admit, it was an extremely well-thought out plan. Every contingency was accounted for, every eventuality planned and prepared for…Jane doubted she could do better herself, and she was quick to express such to her friends from Louisiana.

Alaska squealed with joy, and Cameron was quick to calm her down with a hug. He really loved her, Jane could tell. It was like looking at her dad and Mutsu, only…without all the coy teasing. They didn't play games like her parents did, they just…loved each other. It was really cute, and Jane was happy she hadn't even had to help!

"Well," Jane yawned again. "It's way past my bedtime. I'm gonna have to say goodnight."

 _"Okay,"_ said Alaska. _"Thank you so much!"_ She added with a wave.

 _"Good night, Jane."_ Cameron waved too, but with one hand gently draped around his girlfriend's middle.

Jane leaned forwards to hug the laptop's screen, then closed the lid. And in so doing, met the gaze of a very small figure that'd apparently been standing behind the laptop's screen for at least a while.

Her limbs were stumpy like Minimu or Smolzona, her features all squished and small, but this newcomer's face seemed to be devoid of any features beyond her big blue eyes and untamed avalanche of snowy white hair.

"Muuuuuuu!" Minimu growled a warning from the toy shelf, brandishing a transparent orange chainsaw from one of Jane's Lego sets – one of the tiny handful Mutsu hadn't 'borrowed' to fuel her pregnancy-induced building cravings.

The new arrival just looked from Jane to Minimu, her big blue eyes soaking up every detail. Finally, a mouth so small Jane hadn't even noticed its existence opened, and a single musical word floated out. "'laska?"

The poor thing sounded confused. Very confused. Utterly bewildered and lost, really. But…she didn't seem the slightest bit scared about it, or even upset. She was in a strange new world, and that was okay. Jane put the laptop on her bedside table to get a better look, but in so doing changed the balance of her mattresses' springs.

Any other girl would've handled the undulation without a thought, but this new arrival wasn't like the rest of Jane's miniature fleet. Her eyes went wide, her stubby little arms flailed in circles, and then she bounced onto her rump with a quietly surprised "'laska!"

Jane giggled, and in that moment, knew what she would call the newest member of her fleet. "You okay, Snowflake?"

Snowflake thought for a second, then nodded. "'laska!" she said emphatically.

"Good," said Jane. "Now c'mon, it's time for bed."

Snowflake wobbled back onto her unsteady little feet and trotted over to the head of the bed. Then, she patiently waited for Jane to get ready.

"You wanna sleep with me?" Said Jane as she turned off her reading lamp.

"'laska." The very small large cruiser nodded and nervously shuffled those tiny legs of hers.

"Okay," Jane pulled her covers up and let Snowflake cuddle up against her chest. "Good night!"

"'laska~"

—|—|—

Battleship Musashi was in agony. Every. Single. Part. Of her _ached._ It felt like every single compartment was warped, every frame was buckled, every light and fuse aboard had shattered from the stress hours ago. Her shafts were aflame, run raw against destroyed bearings until even breathing was torture for her devastated propulsion plant.

It wasn't fun anymore, it'd stopped being fun hours ago. The Iowa had run her ragged, fucked her senseless – no. No that would've been a vast improvement of the situation. Jersey had instead merely fucked her until Musashi's every sense was overwhelmed with sheer refined pain.

She just wanted it to _end_. She didn't even care if all that beer Jersey had brought along was left untouched. She wanted to fall against her bed and remain totally immobile until at least some small part of her body stopped throbbing in pain. Maybe if she was truly fortunate, she'd even be able to sleep, but the Yamato doubted even her iron will could power through the anguished cries of every damage-controlman and nerve in her body long enough to embrace the sweet release of sleep.

"So," Beside her, the vast naked form of battleship New Jersey drew halting breaths of air choked with concrete dust and burnt oil. Her vast, perfectly full bosom rose and fell with each needy gasp in ways that would've set Musashi's mind afire with carnal desire if even the tiniest part of the battleship's mind was capable of registering things other than pain. "Ready for…" Jersey ran a shaking hand through her long strawberry hair, her mouth more bleeding gums than teeth by now. "What is it…round…twenty?"

"Twenty–" Musashi's voice was a raspy croak. Not that her counterpart's was much better. Jersey's dusky contralto had deteriorated to a desperate gasp in the past few hours. "Twenty-one, I think."

She forced a smile onto her split, bleeding lips. She wanted this to end, but she would not – would _not_ – allow this American to win. Not when her beloved sister lay silent in the watery deaths, unable to even defend her own honor. For the sister she loved, for the country she held dear, she would _not_ allow herself to be cowed. "You're not –" she stopped, coughing raspy splinters of twisted metal that could've easily come from either warship. "– not giving up, are you?"

Jersey rolled over. She didn't bother to try and pin the Yamato down and loom above her, she just sort of flopped onto Musashi's body with a pathetic grunt. "Never," hissed the Iowa.

—|—|—

Crowning had barely touched his breakfast when he saw Jersey sashay in with a hungry smile on her lips, which was something he still wasn't totally used to. Jersey waking up before noon _at all_ was an idea so preposterous it could barely be conceived of. But doing so when she had demonstrably not gotten a single wink of sleep the entire night brought new meaning to the word 'impossible.'

As she bounced over to the serving line to fill up her tray with waffles and toast, Crowning almost choked on his oatmeal. She had the unmistakable dopey smile of a woman who'd just had sex, which somehow looked so out of place on the amazon's towering body that it added a whole new dimension to this chart of impossibility.

In fact, just witnessing this collision of impossible events was enough to send Crowning's brain crashing to a screeching halt. The next thing he new, Jersey was standing next to him with a tray so overloaded with waffles and sausage it was visibly bowing. "Mind if I join you?"

Crowning shook his head as time and space rapidly caught up to him. "Huh? Oh, yeah."

She smiled and set her immense – by human standards, it was about what he'd grown to expect from her appetite – breakfast down with a clatter of plastic on plastic.

"So…" Crowing eyed the girl up. There wasn't a shred of grogginess about her like he would've expected if the famously morning-shy boat woke up this early. "I hear you got laid."

"Oh _hell_ yes," said Jersey with a grin. "It was –"

Before she could continue, Musashi arrived. But instead of her usual bombastic fanfare, the massive super-battleship just shuffled through the doors in a haze. Her hair was a mess, her eyes lidded, and her gait barely more than a pained shuffle. Her lips parted in a raspy moan as she slowly made her way to the drink station, each motion seeming utterly torturous for her massive body to complete.

Jersey grinned like a six-year-old dropped off at a candy store with a blank check. "You up for another round, Mushi?" She cackled.

Musashi slowly – _painfully slowly_ – raised her middle finger at the Iowa. She filled a cup up with nothing but ice and pressed it between her legs. The mighty Yamato collapsed into a chair, her face parting in the purest bliss Crowning had ever seen in his life.

Jersey howled with laughter. "Fuck you, Mushi! I win!"

Musashi didn't bother responding, and with no reaction to her taunts, Jersey gave up and turned back to Crowning. "Anyways, uh…where was I?"

"By context," said Crowning, "You were about to describe your night. Which, by the way," he added with a smirk. "I'm content to leaving as a mystery."

"Spoilsport," pouted the big Iowa. "And…actually that's not what I meant to tell you. Which is thanks…for the other day…when I offered to let you fuck me." The battleship took a massive bite out of an improbably large pile of waffles that she still managed to swallow in an improbably short amount of time.

"Jersey –"

"No, lemme finish," said the battleship. "I wasn't…uh…all there. When that happened. You coulda taken advantage of me, but you didn't. So, thanks."

"Jersey," Crowning shook his head. "I wouldn't…I'd never do that to you."

"I know," said Jersey. "You're…like that, you know? You make a girl…boat…whatever, feel safe when you're around. It's nice. And…on that subject…" The Iowa flashed a smirk. "I ran into Kirishima the other day."

"Should I fear for my pelvis?" Crowning took a nonchalant sip of tea.

"Yes," said Jersey, "But that's secondary. You know I asked her why she hasn't jumped you yet. Know what she said?"

"Can't say I do," said Crowning, aware that Jersey was telling a story now more than holding a conversation.

"She said 'I've only know him a few weeks, that's not enough to build a relationship around'." Jersey scarfed down another few syrup-drenched waffles. If she was human, her diabetes would have diabetes by now. "Smart fucking girl. I never thought of that…probably why you and I…sorta…imploded."

"Jersey, that wasn't your fault –"

"Fuck you, it was." Jersey rolled her eyes. "Anyways…Mini-Dess has a point, can't build a real relationship off that little. But it's enough for a date."

"You think I should ask Kirishima out?" said Crowning with bemused interest.

"Yes, dammit," said Jersey, in much the same way you'd tell a toddler that the sky was in fact blue. "She's cute as _fuck_ and is totally into you. Also, I can tell you that underneath those robes and bindings Kongos have _wicked ass_ tiddy."

"I…" Crowning didn't know what to say to that.

"Look," said Jersey. "Take her to that pie place and talk about books or some nerdy-ass shit. She'll eat it up." She glanced over at where Musashi was gingerly pressing icepacks against her battered body. "Now…if you'll excuse me…I need to be a giant raging asshole to Mushi."

Crowning rolled his eyes with a grin. "Never change, Jersey."

"Yeah, yeah," Jersey picked up her tray. "And ask 'shima out."

"I –"

" _Do it._ " Barked Jersey in a startlingly Commanding Officer voice. It was a sudden and prompt reminder that – immature antics aside – when a battleship spoke, _everyone listened._

—|—|—

Meanwhile in the gulf, large cruiser Alaska had changed back into her duty uniform. And yes, she did mean _she_ had changed. She'd hoped to convince Cameron to help peel her out of her fancy dinner-dress blues, but all the cajoling in the world apparently wasn't enough to get the idea that Alaska wanted her boyfriend to unwrap his Christmas present through said boyfriend's impossible thick skull.

Even when she spelled out her desires in such simple terms that he couldn't possibly miss her meaning, he still turned her down. Not because he didn't _want_ to mind you, he made it very clear that a naked Alaska would make him quite happy, but because he wanted to marry her first.

Alaska had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, she was as much a young woman as she was an even younger large cruiser. She had womanly needs and desires, and she wanted so very much to spend some intimate time with the love of her life. But on the other hand, Alaska had to admit, if Cameron _had_ taken her up on her offer, he wouldn't be the man she fell in love with.

"I love you." Alaska glanced across the truck's cabin and smiled at her boyfriend. Her thigh brushed against his as the heavily-laden quad-axle truck swayed around a curve. She didn't fight the motion and let her head loll against Cameron's shoulder.

"I love you too, 'laska." Cameron smiled and put his arm around his boat-girlfriend's slim shoulder, holding her delightfully cool body against his. "Any particular reason?"

Alaska shrugged and closed her eyes. "I just do."

Cameron chuckled and ran his hand up and down her side. Alaska was very slender; even through the fabric of her parka he could pick out the muscles in her side and the delicate morsels of baby fat that gave her that flat-chested but delightfully womanly figure.

She was the most beautiful girl in the world, which was almost totally irrelevant. She was kind and gentle and sweet as the driven snow, when she smiled it was all he could see. That she was pretty was just the cherry on top.

"You know," Alaska didn't open her eyes as she snuggled up tighter. "You looked really nice."

"Huh?" Cameron glanced over at his girlfriend and got a nose full of her snowy white hair for his troubles. "Pah," he spat out a mouthful of her glittering mane and hugged her tighter.

"The other night," said Alaska. "When we talked to Jane. You looked really nice. I should've told you."

"You had enough on your mind," said Cameron. The Skype conversation had only lasted a few hours – most of which was spent with him behind the camera managing Alaska's slides – but it was enough. He could see why Alaska – why _all_ the kanmusume – respected Jane Richardson the way they did. "We were talking to Jane, after all."

"I know," Alaska half-pouted. "But still…you looked nice and I should've told you." She smiled lazily and nuzzled his neck with her cool nose. "Mmm…you should dress up for me more."

"Maybe I'll take you out for dinner," said Cameron. Normally, he'd be worried about the inevitably lengthy bill his girlfriend's gluttonous appetite would ring up. But Alaska had made a bit of a name for herself on the Gulf Coast, and more than a few restaurants had offered to comp a meal if she wanted to visit.

"Mmm…" Alaska purred contentedly. "I'd like that."

Cameron smiled and kissed the large cruiser on the crown of her snowy head. "Me too, 'laska."

The truck ground to a halt, but neither one moved for a moment. Cameron really couldn't, not with Alaska pinning his arm in place with her body, and Alaska was clearly too comfortable to disturb. But eventually the large cruiser smiled and peeled herself off him with a yawn. "We there?" she asked.

"Yeah," Cameron unbuckled and slid down the bench to the door. "You have the plans, right?"

Alaska nodded and patted a pouch on her gunbelt. "I do," she said without a hint of accusation.

The two hopped out of the big truck and – after Alaska thanked their Marine driver with a hug – stepped into Cameron's Mom's Bridal boutique. It was, in Alaska's opinion, the most gorgeously pretty place in the whole world. There were dresses and dresses and dresses, almost all of them in the exact same shimmering snow-white color as her own hair. She had to force herself not to touch everything she passed, it was all so pretty!

"Look!" Alaska tugged at her boyfriend's sleeve. "Look!" She could just see a dress being worked on in the back. It was obviously not finished, but that didn't matter. It was gorgeous all the same, slim and fitted with a flared-out waist and a skirt that looked like a waterfall of churning sea spray. There were even little tufts of what Alaska was _certain_ was wolf's fur accenting around the collar.

"Oh no," Cameron buried his head in his hand.

"Don't you think it's pretty?" said Alaska.

Cameron muttered something noncommittal into his hands.

"Well it is," said Alaska.

Before the two could continue their conversation further, Cameron's mom came trotting out from behind a row of veils on display. She looked absolutely gorgeous, as per usual, and also in severe need of a large-cruiser-sized hug.

"Hey Cameron, 'laska, nice to – oh." Christy Young smiled as the much taller large cruiser threw her arms around her for a hug. "Nice to see you too, 'laska."

"Thanks, Christy." Alaska squeezed once, then let go. Christy wasn't _quite_ as huggable as Sara, but she was close.

"Hi, Mom," said Cameron. His cheeks were glowing red for some reason Alaska couldn't discern.

"You seen my new piece?" Christy glanced at Cameron's blush and smirked.

"Yes…mother…" Cameron's blush intensified.

Alaska, meanwhile, quietly raised her hand and waited to be called on.

"Yes, sorry," Christy smiled and pushed Alaska's hand down with hers. "You came here for a reason."

Alaska nodded.

"You know, we don't normally do this sort of thing," said Christy, leading the two into the workshop in the back. "But for you two, I'll make an exception." She settled down at her workbench and leafed through a sketchbook to find her design. "Here."

The dress was gorgeous. A deep, rich red and trimmed with pure white fur, it was cut very short. A delicious band of creamy skin was left open above a pair of thigh-high stockings, teasing at the wonderland waiting beneath that fur-lined miniskirt. A short cape in the same rich red draped over the shoulders, ending just above the elbow and cinched high around the neck. Of course, an adorable little red scarf pulled the whole thing together.

"Oh," Alaska smiled, "It's gorgeous."

"You outdid yourself, mom," said Cameron, shooting nervous glances at the partially finished fur-trimmed wedding gown for some reason.

"I know it's going to a good cause," said Christy. "You got her sizes?"

Alaska nodded and fished a few pages full of measurements hand-copied from _Janes' Fighting Kanmusu (2015-2016)_ in Alaska's own neat but childish writing. Plus a few _extra_ measurements she'd cleaned through seemingly innocent cuddle sessions. "Right here."

Christy set a pair of reading glasses on her slim nose and scanned over the paper. Almost immediately her jaw dropped. "Good Lord… _that's_ her bust?"

Alaska nodded. "She's very stacked."

"You…can say that again," said Christy. She whistled in shock. "Girl must be happy to have a keel made out of steel."

Alaska shrugged. "I just know they're super comfy."

"Think you can do it, Mom?" asked Cameron.

"For what 'laska and 'tago are paying me?" Christy chuckled. "I'll have it done, don't you worry."

Alaska smiled, and quietly checked off another box on her notebook. The very small, very hidden notebook that only a precious few privy to certain operations knew about.

—|—|—


	18. Chapter 17: Plushies, Planes, and DEs

—|—|—

Support Carrier Shinano had been up for a while. Well, that wasn't really true. She'd been _awake_ for a while, but she hadn't been able to find the energy to actually get _up_ until just now. Her bed might've been too small for her comically large body to actually fit without spilling over, but it was still soft and warm and covered with what felt like several towns' worth of fluffy blankets.

To make things better, Jersey had been sure to toss all those blankets in the dryer so they came out fresh and warm _just_ before the big battleship tucked Shinano in for the night. She was so warm and comfortable and content, and she only got happier when her escort for the night arrived. The Taffies were needed on the line, but as a fallback Jersey had apparently taken up a collection around the base.

There were hundreds of parents living in and around Everett. Most of them had children who'd grown beyond needing the comfort of a familiar stuffed friend to lull them to sleep, but some kept the plush animals around for some reason or another. From those few, a crack team of battle-tested plushies had been assembled. Veterans who'd cut their soft, downy teeth watching over the rest of boys and girls all over the city now joined together to protect Shinano's rest.

It was the most comfortable thing the support carrier had ever felt in her shockingly brief existence, and she just hadn't wanted it to end. But eventually, her immense hunger got the better of her, and Shinano pulled herself from the warm embrace of her covers.

She yawned, stretching her powerful arms and working the kinks out of her shoulders. A moment later she started getting into her uniform. It only took her three tries to get her _sarashi_ bound properly this time, and her heavy canvas _hakama_ went on right the very first try!

Shinano smiled to herself as she settled her heavy forged-iron breastplate in place and cinched down the thick leather straps holding it in place. With her bindings and armor on, her figure was at least reasonably close to looking like a carrier should. And…and her sister was here, too. Shinano was pretty sure most people would be looking at Musashi's chest, not her own, so that was something.

Shinano was just about to do her hair – or more accurately, to _try_ and do her hair. She still hadn't mastered braiding, maybe Jersey would help? – when she heard a knock at her door.

"Um," Shinano blushed, still not used to being treated so kindly. "C-come in?"

The door swung open, and three very small warships stepped in.

"Hi," said the one dressed in a comically oversized Marine-issue coat. "I'm Sammy B."

"I'm England," said the one with a pair of enormous sonar headphones hooked around her little neck.

"And…I'm Walker," said the smallest and quietest one of the group who had a big book tucked under her little arm.

"We'll be your breakfast escort for today," said Sammy B with a smile.

"Could you come this way, ma'am?" Asked England, offering her tiny little hand to Shinano. The support carrier took it in her heavy leather gauntlet-clad paw and allowed herself to be towed off to the mess hall. Today, she decided, was going to be a good day.

—|—|—

For most people, organizing a day trip to a flight museum would be a trifling affair barely worthy of note. Yeoman Jennifer Bowers was not most people, and neither were the girls she had to wrangle. Getting Shinano to the nice shiny planes was the whole purpose of the trip, and both Jersey and Musashi wanted to tag along – for obvious reasons in both cases.

There was one problem. All three of the warships weighed enough to max out the biggest trucks Bowers could get her hands on. By themselves. And that wasn't even counting the flotilla of escorts that'd be tagging along. And lunches for everyone.

Descending on one of the unsuspecting local restaurants was out of the question. Even if they had parking for the vast convoy and enough staff to _feed_ three girls who could out-eat a Marine Battalion with minimal effort, Shinano's crippling shyness would never tolerate such public conditions.

Bowers ended up staying up all night with a cadre of kitchen staff, Tenryuu, and the painfully adorable destroyers under said cruiser's care making bagged lunches for the trip. Jersey popped by for the last few hours, which Bowers appreciated. The Kanmusume tended to slack off when ashore, but considering how hard they worked at sea, she couldn't begrudge them anything.

"Hey," Jersey smiled at the sailor, her massive frame only barely fitting into the lumbering truck. In an effort to keep the convoy down to only _somewhat_ ridiculous size, Bowers had crammed herself and additional naval personnel wherever they fit. A few hundred pounds of sailor here and there was nothing compared to the thousands of tons even a small ship weighed. "You did good, Yeoman."

"Thank you, Commander." Bowers smiled and stifled a yawn. She'd elected to ride with Jersey mostly because there wasn't any other option. Shinano much preferred riding with only her escort – of both ships and stuffed animals – to an American Sailor she'd barely met. Also, Jersey couldn't be left alone with the vast sea of bagged lunches or she would – by her own admission – probably eat most of them.

Bowers thought better of the big battleship, but then again…she'd never experienced the constant gnawing hunger that big warships apparently felt. Not that she was complaining, mind you. Jersey was the kind of officer who was a joy to work with and under.

"With this," Jersey waved a half-gloved hand around the compartment. "But also the whole…uniform…thing."

Bowers blushed at the compliment. Finding a pattern for Jersey's new vest that accommodated for her…rather prodigious new bosom had been a task in itself. But getting it sewn was joy undiluted for the sailor. There was nothing she liked more than turning a few scraps of flat fabric into something three-dimensional and _real._

"It was a pleasure, Commander." Bowers might have a chest you could play pool on, but she'd sewn for her busty friends before, some who even approached Jersey's superhero proportions. Of course, they did it with corsets, a little padding, and a lot of silicone. Jersey's figure was all natural…well…metal. "You know, Comic Con is coming up soon…"

Jersey was wearing her mirrored aviators, but Bowers could still tell the battleship was rolling her eyes. "Do I _look_ like a virgin nerd?"

"After the other night?" Bowers chuckled. "You _do_ know the difference between sex and a cage fight, right?"

"Hardy-har-fuck you," grumbled the Iowa. "You're worse than Naka. Which is saying something, because Naka is…just the _worst._ "

"Tell me about it," said the yeoman. "All those frills."

Jersey blinked, her pre-staged sequence of gripes thrown for a loop as her mechanical brain processed that new bit of information. "What?" And then it hit her. "Oh, good Lord, you didn't…"

Bowers blushed. "Yeah. For Halloween. Before your time."

"Why?" Jersey shook her head. " _why_ would you dress up as a fucking _traffic-directing-implement_?"

Bowers shrugged. "Because it's kinda cute? Don't knock a frilly miniskirt until you've tried it, ma'am."

Jersey shot the sailor a sly look, but couldn't get anything out before the squeal of overtaxed brakes made talking impossible. The truck heaved as its exhausted motor finally embraced the sweet release of death with a sputtering cough and a hiss of compressed air.

"You know," said Bowers with an impish smirk, "I could probably make you a Musashi getup."

"Why the fuck," Jersey scowled, carefully negotiating her Amazonian frame around the cramped cab to get to the door. "Would I want to dress like the Tiddy Monster from Nippon's fever dreams?"

"I've seen your abs, ma'am."

The Iowa shrugged. "Fair point."

Jersey hopped off onto the parking lot, and Bowers felt her butt leave the seat for a moment when springs strained to buckling suddenly had their burdens lifted. She followed suit a moment later, pulling her cover on smartly when she ducked out into the chilly winter air.

The convoy had filled up what felt like nearly all of the museum's parking space. Which might've been a problem if they museum staff hadn't closed early to make sure Shinano had the whole place to herself. Bowers would love to take credit for that, but they'd proposed the idea the moment she mentioned Shinano's shy, timid nature and there was no dissuading them.

Across the lot, Musashi unfolded her immense chocolate form with a scowl. Despite all the brutality she and Jersey had inflicted on one another in their brutal eight-hour marathon quote-unquote 'lovemaking' session, the damage had been virtually all superficial. According to Vestal, she was fully combat-ready. That said, it seemed like her ass hadn't been quite up to sitting in the back of a ten-ton for several hours.

And then Shinano came spilling out of her truck. And Bowers did mean _spilling_ out. The poor girl put one of her massive iron-shod boots down first, letting her leg take some of her weight as she shimmied down the ladder. That'd been a mistake, the truck's suspension shifted and the poor carrier nearly overbalanced. She managed to catch herself at the last instant, but for a moment Bowers was sure the littlest Yamato was going to dig a new foxhole in the blacktop.

Jersey as at her side in an instant, with Musashi coming in second purely due to her weaker turbines. Shinano blushed brighter than her battle flag as Jersey and Musashi both frantically dusted her off and set her straight.

"You know," Destroyer-escort England smiled by Bowers' side, her little neck adorned with truly massive headphones. "I think that's the first time I've seen them do something and _not_ make it a competition."

Bowers chuckled. "Think you're right, kiddo."

England beamed.

Meanwhile, Shinano was more embarrassed than she'd ever been in her entire – though admittedly _extremely short_ – life. She was a support carrier. She was supposed to hide in the rear supporting the real combat vessels, not be doted on by two of the mightiest battleships the world had ever seen. Also, she _hadn't_ tripped. She'd gotten close, but she'd recovered. Besides, she was an _armored_ support carrier!

"I'm fine," she said meekly, wringing her hands over her heavily armored chest.

"You sure, Shina?" Jersey ruffled the girl's flowing hair.

"It is…" Musashi gulped. "It is no weakness to ask for help among friends."

Shinano nodded. "Y-yes. I'm fine. Can…can I see the planes now?"

Jersey nodded. "Yeah, right this way."

The two-and-a-half battleships made it all of fifteen yards before a smiling old man in a museum-branded polo shirt greeted the little flotilla. "Jersey," he said with a knowing wink.

The Iowa looked at him for a moment, then erupted with a howling, happy laugh. "Holy Hannah! Chief Irons? God _damn_ you got old!"

Irons chuckled. "And you got prettier."

Jersey blushed. "Aww…" When she noticed Musashi's look of utter confusion – and Shinano's attempt to hide behind her older sister, which was working out more successfully than her usual attempts to hide behind White – the battleship hastily clarified. "Um… Musashi, Shinano, this is Master Chief Irons, he ran my boilers during 'Nam. Girl couldn't ask for better hands."

Irons just rolled his eyes as Jersey's lewd comment. "Miss Musashi, Miss Shinano, it's a pleasure to meet you both."

Musashi puffed out her chest and offered her hand. Sunlight glinting off her glasses hid her eyes, but it was pretty clear to all that she was pleased to meet someone who knew Jersey's propulsion plant so well. "The pleasure is mine."

"She may have fucked up your handiwork the other night," said Jersey, turning Musashi's cheeks bright red. "My guys are working on it, but…" she smirked. "They don't have your touch, Chief."

Irons chuckled. "I'm a married man, Jersey. Otherwise…"

Jersey shrugged. "Good to see you again, Chief."

"Likewise." Irons angled around Musashi and put on a kindly smile. He'd been with the museum for a long time now, he was used to coaxing shy young kids into enjoying themselves. Of course…most of those shy little kids weren't a foot taller than him or strapped with several hundred pounds of forged iron. "Miss Shinano?"

Shinano mumbled something inaudible and scuffed her steel-capped toe against the ground.

Irons just smiled at her. "Why don't we get started, hmm?"

Shinano nodded.

"You see anything you're interested in, just ask me, okay?"

She nodded again. She stayed silent for all of fifteen seconds once they were through the doors, then something interesting caught her eye.

"Zero!" said Shinano with all her impressive Yamato-class lung capacity. "Mushi! Mushi! There's a Zero!" She waved her heavily armored gauntlet frantically at the little airplane. "That's a Zero!"

Musashi smiled and covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

"And…" Shinano didn't wait for a response. She just grabbed Jersey's hand in hers and tore off towards the parked airplane. She made it about three steps before getting distracted again. "That's a Spitfire!" She wheeled around and almost crashed into Jersey. "Jersey!Jersey!Jersey! That's a Spitfire!"

Jersey ruffled the girl's hair. "I know, kiddo."

"I have one of those!" Shinano didn't so much speak as to open her mouth and let words come tumbling forth. "In…in War Thunder, at least. It's so pretty."

"Ain't that the truth." Jersey always felt herself drawn more towards the brutish elegance of a Corsair or a Phantom – or of course a Tomcat, but that was just cheating. But…she had to admit…there was something eminently fuckable about the sleek Supermarine.

"It's a very pretty plane," said Musashi as she trotted over.

The battleship had barely finished talking when Shinano noticed something else. "Look! Looklooklook!" She jumped up and down, earth shaking with every impact as the big carrier pointed in another direction entirely. "Jersey, look!"

The Iowa squinted. "Focke-Wulf?"

"Correct," Irons didn't so much walk up as appear by the two warships. "But that version's –"

"A Dora," Said Shinano. "With the inline, I know. For…" her brows knit in thought. "High altitude performance, right?"

"That's correct," said Irons. "They also added a –"

Shinano cut him off with a squeal. "Is that a P-51? That's a P-51! Jersey! Mushi! That's a P-51!" She threw her arms out and broke into a run. "Cadillac of the skies!"

—|—|—

"You called?" A very skinny and visibly neglected girl in a salt-encrusted swimsuit sprawled over Alaska's neatly-made bed. Her hair was slicked back in a spiky ponytail that might at one point have been blond, but now was now almost bone-white from constant exposure to choppy surf and brackish water. A knife was strapped to the shoulder rig holding her two pistols, and a pair of noticeably-modern jeans had been cutoff into shorts fitting for her inexplicably rounded aft.

"Hey, Harder." Alaska closed the door behind her. Then she blinked and looked again at the submarine's shorts. "Are those Cameron's pants?"

Harder shrugged without a hint of shame. "They were at one point, maybe."

Alaska pouted. She'd wanted to be the first ship to deprive Cameron of his pants. "Was he wearing them at the time?"

Harder shook her head, her ponytail scratching noisily against Alaska's pillow. "Nah, I'll leave that up to you."

The large cruiser beamed. "Thanks."

Harder shrugged. "You two are damn cute you know. Surprised he hasn't railed ya."

"Me too," said Alaska with unrestrained frustration. "Anyways, I need your help."

"What's in it for me?" Harder picked at her fingernails with her dive knife.

Alaska closed her eyes. Then she opened them again, tears welling up like glacial melt as her lip quivered pathetically. She clasped her hands together and dropped to her knees. "Please?" she said softly.

"Destroyer eyes?" Harder laughed. "You _do_ know who I am, right?"

Alaska nodded. "Is it working?"

Harder scowled and crossed her skinny arms. "Yes."

The large cruiser giggled. "Yes!"

"What's up?"

"This," Alaska fumbled around her bookshelf for her prized signed copy of _Changing Destiny_ , "Is Mister Stewart's handwriting."

"Okay…" Harder bit her lip and read over the message. "A little loopy."

"I know." Alaska fished a scrap of paper out of her pocket and wrote something down. "And _this_ is what I'd like you to forge."

"Hmm," Harder held the two against each other. "In his hand?"

"Yeah," said Alaska. "Can you do it?"

Harder's only response was to roll her eyes and point to the dolphin tattoo just above her hip.

—|—|—

After almost four hours of running about pointing at things and making plane noises at the top of her lungs, Shinano had finally run out of energy and requested a break for lunch. Jersey was happy to oblige. She'd say she was getting hungry herself, but that would imply there was ever a time in her life when she wasn't hungry to some degree or another.

Luckily, she'd prepared a few extra-large sandwiches loaded down with three of every meat the kitchen had on hand. She'd even slipped a few of the beers she and Musashi hadn't drank into a few choice bags.

Unfortunately, she was barely through her ninth sandwich and second beer when Shinano wandered over. The massive carrier had a small, half-finished sandwich – peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off, her favorite – clasped to her chest and a plaintive look on her gentle face.

"Sup, shinny?" Said Jersey through a mouthful of turkey, chicken, ham, roast beef, regular beef, bacon, and like thirty kinds of cheese.

"Um…" Shinano worried her little sandwich. "I…was wondering…" Her long black hair blew in the breeze. "Could you braid my hair?"

Jersey gave the carrier a sideways look.

"I…" Shinano blushed and sat down in a heap. "I can't do it very well. Not as well as you."

Jersey swallowed and stared at the remainder of her sandwich, sitting so temptingly on its foil wrapper. She'd need both hands to braid Shinano's shimmering mane, and that meant putting off the rest of her meal for however long being a hairstylist took. For the hungry battleship, that was a decision that didn't take an instant of thought.

"Sure," Jersey shook the crumbs off her fingerless flight gloves. "Turn around."

—|—|—

When battlecruiser Saratoga returned from her evening gunnery practice with Texas and Alaska, she found a small box waiting for her on her bed. It couldn't have been much bigger than a box of donuts, and it was wrapped in plain red paper with a somewhat sloppy green ribbon bow.

"Hmm?" Sara planted her hands on her hips. There was a note tied to the package, but all it said was her own name. 'Sara' in beautiful cursive that she recognized as Daniel Stewart's handwriting.

Maybe it was a Christmas present, but then what was it doing in her room? There was a Christmas tree setup in the common area – Alaska's idea – and the large cruiser had made it very clear that Christmas presents were supposed to go _there_ until Christmas day.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Sara slipped the ribbons off and opened the package. Inside was a dress. A _gorgeous_ dress in shimmering red velvet that flowed through her fingers like water when she touched it. Pure white fur lined the skirt, and there was even a little cape to keep her shoulders warm.

"Oh, my God," Sara breathed, holding it up to the light. It was gorgeous! And short! So very…very… _delightfully_ short. And it came with matching thigh-highs! Oh, how Sara _adored_ thigh-highs. She held the soft fabric to her bosom and sighed with happiness.

And that's when she noticed the note.

Cocking her head to the side, Sara lay her new dress on the bed and picked up the note. A short message was written on it, in handwriting she recognized.

"Sara, enclosed is my Christmas present. I hope you'll let me unwrap it. Daniel."

Uploader's Note: Shameferu disperay on my behalf. If I seem to disappear for too long, PM or review and kick me into gear, eh? Stuff happens, and it's not the "Fletcher class gets bored" type of fun. But, should you _really_ want the next chapter soon, I'm willing to lock my schedule in a closet with an Abyssal.

Review so I can send feedback to the real author.

Caboose Out


	19. Chapter 18: We Are Your Crew

Arizona looked to everyone present in the dimly lit room. Askance clear on her features. But she couldn't quite form the words to demand an answer.

The entirety of the Richardson household and then some was present. Every name on the shoe cubby at the front door had their owner here.

Mutsu stepped forward to stand next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder in the process. There was slim to none of the usual aura of teasing or mischief. Instead, Arizona felt nothing but a sense of comfort. A sort of solidarity and kindness that could only belong to the younger Nagato.

"Mutsu, would you please explain what's going on?" she asked for what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening.

"We wanted to do something for you." Mutsu began guiding her forward and she offered up no resistance. "I wouldn't call it happy. But I wouldn't call it unkind."

That did not take away any of the growing weight on her already heavy heart. Arizona would say it heaped even more upon it. But she decided to remain quiet and allow her family to explain.

Jane, Shimakaze, and Albacore stepped forward after some prodding from Jintsu.

It was Jane who spoke up first.

"We know it's a sad day for you, Ari-mama. And we wanted you to be happy. But…" Arizona's dark-haired daughter looked down and scuffed her shoe against the floor. The odd sight of a downcast Jane lasted only a moment before it vanished like smoke. "But we didn't know how. So, Albie, Shima, and me – I."

Arizona almost cracked a smile as she caught sight of Jintsu's grin. Something she noted Jane couldn't help but huff at. Even if only a bit.

Albacore cut in before Jane could continue.

"So we asked the Admiral and everyone else for ideas." She crossed her arms as she spoke. "Some were better than others, but we figured something out."

The three youngest figures in the room moved out of the way as Richardson set up a small table in front of Arizona. There was a melancholy expression on his features, but she noted that there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. A light that told her he was hoping their plot would work. Whatever the outcome they sought, he was genuinely striving for it to succeed.

Hiei was not far behind, carrying covered tray she had fetched from some out of sight corner of the room. The item was set upon the table with a small clatter of metal on wood.

Arizona looked away from the tray to Mutsu, still at her side with a comforting arm around her shoulder. Her silent question was met with a nod of the head and a small smile. Her bright eyes held the same glimmer as her husband.

"Go on."

Arizona gently lifted the lid from the tray and handed it to Jintsu.

What?

It was an envelope.

It was quite thick and about as nondescript as she could imagine. Plain white, a little battered, but completely unremarkable.

Of all the things that would entail such a setup, this hadn't even been in the realm of consideration. But her family wouldn't to go such efforts for nothing. Especially not on a day like this.

She took the envelope in hand and opened it with a skillful motion. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that everyone was looking at her expectantly. A sigh escaped her, and she withdrew the letter, unfolding its numerous sheets in the process.

…It was a letter.

 _Hey there, Arizona._

Arizona looked up with a start. Her eyed widened in shock and realization. She knew that handwriting. She knew it like her very own.

 _We pulled the wool over your eyes something good. Sure, we had some help, but we still did it in the end. Never underestimate the Navy. You should know that better than anyone._

 _Well, enough joking around, I suppose._

 _The crew and I wanted to tell you something. Something we couldn't for seventy years and change. Hell, we should have done this sooner. We just didn't know how. Even with all the magic mumbo jumbo, we couldn't figure it out. But that's then and this is now._

 _We never blamed you. And we sure as hell never will._

 _We lived together. Some of us died together. Some of us lived on. Didn't matter if we died a day or half a dozen decades later. I know there are a few good old boys still kicking._

 _Anyway, the important part is this, so open up those pretty rangefinders of yours and pay attention._

 _We are your crew. The crew of the USS Arizona. And we love you. Always have. Always will. Don't you ever forget that. Especially today._

 _Got it, sailor?_

 _Now quit your blubbering, hold your head up, and go have a donut with your family. We'll be here. Always have been. Always will be._

 _Your-_

Arizona looked up from the letter, tears falling from her eyes. She didn't bother to wipe them away as she looked up. Her legs felt weak, but she remained steadfast. Her heart felt so much heavier with each word. But it was not a painful weight.

It was… Something better. Something stronger. She didn't know what, but she felt a smile forming on her face.

She looked back down to the letter, rereading it.

And there was more.

Every possible blank space on the papers had been filled in with all manner of print. Messages, each and every one. Thousands. One from each member of her crew.

"I think…" Richardson's voice drew her attention. He held out her favorite snack and ultimate guilty pleasure, an old-fashioned donut. "You were given specific orders, Arizona."

Arizona laughed as she sobbed, taking hold of the treat in one hand and taking care to not make a mess of the treasure in her other.

"Th-Thank you. Thank you, e-everyone…"

As her family and the vision of her crew embraced her, Arizona knew she had never felt more blessed than on this remembrance of a day that would forever live in infamy.

* * * * *

When she finally sighted her sister's island fortress, the Raider Princess' once-proud Imperial greatcoat was no more than a pile of tattered, scorched rags stained black with her own blood. The air was bitterly cold, the water choked with craggy ice, but she wore her tattered coat open. Even if it'd retained enough shape and strength to be of any use against the frigid wind, the Raider Princess could never have gotten it closed.

Her pallid belly was swollen with demonic legions. Her bone-white skin oozed oily blood from the many tears her girth brought with it. Her body screamed in agony with every passing wave as the craggy forged-iron horns of her spawn ground against the raw, bleeding flesh of her womb.

There were hundreds inside her now. There had been thousands, but that was before. The weak had been culled, their bodies devoured by the strong in a Darwinian symphony as stark and brutal as it was exquisite. The very essence, the _meaning_ , of life distilled to its most crucial attributes and played out in microcosm inside her womb.

The Princess was not one for sentiment, preferring to keep her mind clear and free of such trivialities that she might better concentrate on The Hunt. But…even she was moved almost to tears by the beautiful miracle she carried within her.

Her mirthless mouth twitched into a smile and she dragged one massive talon around the curve of her distended middle. She could feel her demons squirming within her. Some twitched inquisitively at their mother's touch. Others, the _strong_ , wasted no time in capitalizing on the mistakes of their lessers.

"Oh!" The Princess grit her teeth, agony of the finest vintage electrifying her nervous as her demons erupted into all-out war once again. She knew full well how horribly torturous the process of birth was, but all the same…she whispered a silent thanksgiving that she was able to feel this battle unfolding inside her. That before the agony of delivery she could enjoy this one moment of pure, undefiled bliss.

Her rigging melted away as she stepped onto the fortress' shores. Her vast iron boots bridge choppy surf to frigid concrete in a single step and a long, exhausted gasp slipped through her lips. She'd sailed for so long…she'd forgotten what _stopping_ felt like.

Her sister, the Snow Queen, the liege of this fortress and master of its seas, sat opposite her in a massive throne of twisted metal and piled concrete. Her long legs were crossed, her greatcoat open while a demon nearly as large as she was suckled hungrily at her frigid teat.

"My…" The Raider Princess collapsed to her knees, almost more from exhaustion than reverence. "My Queen."

"No," The Snow Queen leaped to her feet, shooing her hungry demon aside like so much chaff in the wind. She tore to the Princess's side. "No, no…sister…"

"I…" the words were agony for the Princess's lips to form. So long had she been at sea, focused only on getting to safety, getting to a graving dock that could handle her mortal wounds, she'd forgotten how to speak. Her throat was dry and fouled with rust, her words coming haltingly to her lips. "I must…request…sanctuary. Until…"

"No," The Snow Queen dropped to her knees beside the Princess, planting both hands on her sister's head and stroking her pallid cheeks with mighty talons. "Sister, you are welcome in my domain at any time."

The Princess stared wordlessly at her sister, her eyeless face a mask of…of exhaustion and resignation. "I…failed," she murmured.

"Perhaps," said the Snow Queen. "But…" She closed in, her nose just brushing the Princess' as their lips met. She cradled her sister's exhausted body in her mighty talons, supporting her battle-savaged frame as they kissed. She felt the Princess reach for her, wrapping her arms around her as strongly and swiftly as her injuries would allow.

A hot breath curled from the Snow Queen's nose as the two warships became one. One flesh joined in carnal union, six turbines and twenty-four boilers beating in perfect time to the same marching beat.

Slowly, the Snow Queen pulled away. A tiny bridge of sweet saliva still linked the two ships, and she tenderly brushed a lock of the Princess' ash-white hair back over her cracked horn. "You're my sister, and I love you."

The Princess smiled weakly, her cheeks flushed from the kiss. It'd been so long…so long with only her demons as company. It felt good after all those days at sea.

"You must be starving," the Snow Queen drew her hand along her sister's body, tracing the curves of her naked breasts down to a heavy belly roiling with demonic legions.

"I…I am," The princess's voice was barely more than a horse whisper.

" _Sturmbannführer_!" The snow queen snapped at one of her attendants. "Assemble our prisoners. Now!"

The officer snapped his heels in a salute, then hurried off to put his Queen's will into action.

"You will feast, sister," cooed the Snow Queen, gently guiding her sister's exhausted collapse into the soft swell of her own bosom. "Until then…" She shuddered as the Princess' craggy teeth closed around her icy nipple. She smiled and stroked her talons through her sister's long hair as she nursed her back to health. "Drink your fill."

—|—|—

"Hood? Is that you?" Lieutenant Kenneth Green, RN, squinted at the figure doubled over in the gloomy halo of the street lamp. She was the right height for the vaunted British battlecruiser. She had the leggy, well-appointed build of a fast warship. But…

But Hood was, whatever _else_ she was, a lady. She was firm, polite, and above all collected. The girl doubled-over in the gloom of a cold Scottish evening, hauling down air in desperate gasps might _look_ like Hood, but Green couldn't imagine the Hood he knew would ever act like that.

"Y-yes," The girl – Hood – said at last. Her voice was terribly ragged and came between staring gasps. Her skin glistened with sweat. Her hair was matted to her neck like it'd been glued in place. And as he grew closer Green could see her jumper was soaked through around her neck.

"Hood!" Green bolted to her side and tried to put her arm around her, rank be damned. It didn't help of course, Hood was forty-seven thousand tons. She'd crush him flat if she let him bear even a fraction of her weight. "What's happened to you!"

She shook her head. "Nothing, I…" She panted and shook her head. "I…I went for a run."

"A run?" Hood might outrank him, but…but she was _clearly_ not well. Green was a gentleman as well as an officer, and right now that part of his mind that processed naval etiquette had been shooed away by the part that saw a lady in distress. "At this hour?"

"I couldn't sleep," confessed Hood a little sheepishly.

Green shrugged, but the noticed something he hadn't before. Hood's eyes, so beautiful and clear normally, were bloodshot and clouded. Her nose was ruddy from the cold, her gaze constantly flitted from one spec on the horizon to the next. "Hood…" he asked cautiously. "When was the last time you slept?"

Hood bit her lip. The lithe battlecruiser stiffened and pulled her sweat-stained jumper smooth like it was her polished uniform blouse. "This…this morning." She cracked a tiny smile, a mask as painfully transparent as it was forced. "During breakfast, in fact. Nodded off."

"Hood," Green put his hands on his hips. "I mean _slept_ , not nodded off."

Hood held her mask together with every fiber of her soul, but even that wasn't enough to keep it from cracking a few moments later. "Days," she admitted. "Nine…maybe ten."

"My God, Hood!"

The battlecruiser shook her head. "Whenever I try to sleep…whenever I close my eyes, I see _her_." She shivered in the brutal Scottish cold. "Bismarck is back, Lieutenant. She's back and she's loose. And…" She gulped down a starving gasp of air. "And something bad is going to happen, I know it."

—|—|—


	20. Chapter 19: A Pearl of Great Price

General Andrew Toth was truly in the dark. Possibly more so than any officer ever had been.

He'd had his post for less than a month before all hell broke loose, barely enough time to get his bearing and familiarize himself with the pilots under his command and the missions they'd be carrying out. Then the bottom fell out, all hell broke loose – quite literally, as he'd gathered. The Navy lost…he didn't even know how many. They were still getting scattered and conflicting reports when the invasion hit.

That was two…almost three years ago. Since then, he and his men – what was left of them anyways, and that wasn't much – had been prisoners in their own base. Blinded and completely cut off from the rest of the world. All he had to go on was his own two eyes.

And, judging by the fact that he was currently being guarded by what could most aptly be described as 'demon Nazis who'd crawled back from the pit of hell', he had to figure the war at large was…strange. Assuming, of course…there still _was_ a war out there.

Which there was. There had to be. He couldn't…wouldn't accept that his country had lost. That…that _everyone_ had lost. From what he'd seen of the enemy, they were no mortal threat, but omnicidal demons from the depths of the really fiery parts of the Old Testament. Either they lost, or life died.

A sharp whack against the twisted rebar wall of his cage brought the General crashing back to reality. This was not, as he'd hoped a thousand times, some twisted nightmare. He rolled off his battered cot – they had, at least, allowed him to scavenge that – and pulled his uniform smooth.

It was a ragged mess, of course. The tiger-stripe pattern was faded to a uniform muddy gray, the fabric torn, and seams frayed. But simply the act of straightening out his appearance gave him strength. He was still an officer of the U.S. Air Force…even these demons couldn't take that away from him.

"Yes?" he glared at the soldier waiting by the door. He was a _Fallschirmjäger_ – a paratrooper –, judging by the awkward, side-loading rifle slung over his shoulder, and he didn't have a face. None of them did, none of the thousands of troops he'd seen in his three years of captivity.

Some had…skulls. Masks of bone covered with scraps rotting flesh, like corpses hauled up after years under the waves. Others, like this paratrooper, had only the featureless black rubber of a gas mask.

The paratrooper said nothing, they never did. But as he opened the gate to Toth's cage, an unearthly growl echoed through the trooper's gas mask. It was like granite boulders crashing against each other. Loud, stern, and utterly devoid of even the faintest shred of humanity. Still, Toth got the message. Assemble his men for…something. Inspection, maybe?

The General nodded, but he couldn't ignore the gnawing terror in the pit of his stomach. Even by the twisted standards he'd grown used to, something was _very_ wrong.

—|—|—

The parade ground was drenched in blood. Cracks between shattered concrete slabs were filled with a beautiful mosaic of the finest crimson. The air was thick with the sweet perfume of scared, dying men moaning with their last breath for someone – anyone – to come and save them.

The Princess let it wash over her, her chest gently rising and falling as she drank in every last drop. Even the furious battle in her womb stilled, her unborn demons falling into an uneasy truce for this rarest of delicacies. The Princess was a raider, she subsisted on the fear and horror of merchants, fishermen…their blood was not a tenth so rich as this. "Thank you," she breathed.

"Of course," The Snow Queen smiled, idly letting her talons glide through her sister's hair. It'd been hard restraining herself all these months, the ever-present hunger that gnawed at her stomach had cried out for blood whenever she steamed past the prison camp. She'd sated herself on the scraps her demons brought in, the blood they spilled into the briny sea. But…that was not nearly as fine a vintage as the men she kept in captivity.

But sharing this finest meal with her sister made all the agonizing hunger pangs worth it. "You are my sister." She dropped to her knee, caressing her sister's swollen middle with her talons. She could feel demons stirring within, already turning on each other as the fleeting truce collapsed into a flurry of steel and fire. "And you've many mouths to feed."

The Princess nodded, grunting at she hauled herself to her feet. There were barely dozens within her now. The frantic feeding frenzy of before had turned into a brutal grudge match within her belly. Soon there would be even fewer. Two, perhaps three demons each not quite powerful enough to devour the other without risking mortal injuries to themselves. Not long after that, it would be time to give birth.

She had very little say in the matter. The Princess had experienced it before. The demons within would tear their way free whether she wanted them to or not. If she was in the soothing waters of a birthing dock or fighting the mighty swells of a Pacific typhoon, her demons would come when they wished.

"Sister." The Princess cradled her aching middle, her talons carving angry red scratches in her taut, pallid skin. "Have you prepared a dock for me?"

"No," the Snow Queen shook her head. "No, sister. This…" She waved her hand around the island fortress. "This rocky atoll is too mean an outpost for you."

The Princess shook her head. "It will do –"

"No!" The Queen silenced her sister with a talon to the lips. "No…sister…you are _my_ sister. You deserve better. Only the Pacific's greatest Pearl is fit to be your throne."

—|—|—

Admiral Kinsey was a thin man. He'd _been_ a thin man when he assumed command of NAVSTA Pearl Harbor, and two years of war against an enemy so supernatural that mortal minds could barely comprehend had only made him thinner. A very small part of him longed for the days when annihilation at the hands of North Korean nukes was the worst thing he had to worry about. But most of him…

Most of him was just tired. Hawaii was, in a word, besieged. The whole damn world was. Every beach that wasn't drenched in blood was only so because heroes had fought and died holding the monsters back. Even then, the coastlines mankind still held were perilously thin. It was the Bronze Age all over again. Every trip out of sight of land brought with it a very real fear of vanishing without a trace. Even the stoutest sailor's heart watched the setting sun with trepidation, not knowing if he'd see it rise again.

Kinsey scowled, sipping at the tepid coffee festering in his ancient Academy mug. It wasn't good brew, but it was strong. That, at least, was enough for now. Enough to power through for one more day. That was all he thought about now. Getting through this war one day at a time.

It was hard. Hard on him, hard on his men, hard on his machines. He'd lost two destroyers already, not to hostile fire but…collisions. Accidents. Sailors worked beyond the limits of human endurance falling asleep at their posts with no one to relive them but the dead and the dying.

His jets were no better. They flew all day every day, and flew hard. The Raptors were taking the brunt of it. They could fight on even terms with the best the Abyssals could throw at them, but constant fighting strained their airframes to the limit. The entire fleet – what was left of it – at Pearl was grounded…their engines ruined, and their wings fatigued to crippled wrecks.

The precious P-8s at least were still flying. Their endless patrols weren't nearly as abusive as dogfighting, and every airline in the country had sent every mechanic they could spare to help. But they were still machines. Machines break, and these machines were needed desperately in every theater – and in greater numbers.

"Sir?" A Petty Officer, a sweet young girl named Katie Summers with her hair up in a bun, snapped the Admiral out of his brooding with a word. "Message from the _North Carolina_ , sir."

Kinsey hauled himself to his feet with a grunt. _North Carolina_ was a _Virginia_ -class, Captain…Masterson's boat if he wasn't mistaken. In another life, they'd be apex predators of the sea. Now, all but the slowest Abyssal forces slipped through their fingers like smoke. At least they made good pickets. "What's up?"

"She spotted something," Summers tapped her screen, pointing out a mark roughly three-hundred miles south-west of Pearl. "Only for a moment before they lost it in the fog, but…it was big, sir. Report says as big as a CVN. Maybe bigger."

"Damn," Kinsey cursed under his breath. "He get a course and speed?"

"Uh…" Summers bit her lip. "Twenty, maybe twenty-five knots, heading right for us. Maybe, sir."

"Maybe?" Kinsey shot her a look.

"Captain Masterson…" Summers pressed her hands against her desk. "Cautioned that his estimate was based on an instant's observation. The target could be zigging, his observation could be incorrect…or it could be nothing. Sir."

Kinsey sucked on his teeth for a moment. "No. Ship a size of a CVN? That's not nothing. Who do we have in the air?"

"Uh," Summers tapped a few keys. "That'd be Warlock flight, sir."

"Commander Knight?"

"Yes, sir."

"They have the gas?"

—|—|—

High above the placid – but unseasonably cold; tower report said it was barely fifty at Hickam – Hawaiian coast, Lieutenant Commander Dave "Dash" Knight gave his arithmetic one final check. It was a vast, unfriendly ocean, and _nobody_ wanted to find out what happened to an aviator who ditched in Abyssal waters. "Yeah, we can do it," he said at last. "Might need to tank on the way back if things get hairy."

 _"Let's hope they don't."_ Said Admiral Kinsey. The old man sounded…well _old_. Dash prayed he didn't sound that ragged to his wingmen. _"Give me information, not heroics."_

"Understood, sir." Dash dropped a wing and gently aimed his Hornet – a Charlie model, the increasingly rare Rhinos were reserved for night patrols and quick reaction – down the search bearing. "I see so much as a yellow nose and we're outta here."

 _"Godspeed, Warlock."_

"Thank you, sir," said Dash with conviction that surprised even himself.

The four Hornets tore over the pacific at max-conserve, clawing for altitude all the while with only the roar of low-bypass turbofans to break the early-morning silence. As the jets passed over _Missouri_ on her constant patrol, Dash dipped a wing and snapped off a brief salute to the ancient ship.

He didn't know why, not really. But…watching that ancient old warhorse stand guard over the island…a salute was the least she deserved.

 _"Dash, two o'clock on the deck,"_ his wingman, an impossibly tiny woman from LA by the call sign 'Booster' spoke up for the first time this morning. _"You seeing that?"_

Dash shifted in his seat, ejection harness biting against his shoulder. "Yeah, I…is that _ice_?"

 _"No way that's ice."_ said Booster with rather less confidence than Dash was used to hearing from her.

 _"That's ice."_ Said Sponge, a Bostonian nearly as wide as he was tall.

"I gotta call this in." Dash glanced at his instruments for a moment. "Pearl/Warlock flight how copy?"

 _"Solid copy, Warlock. What's up?"_

"We are seeing, uh, ice. Ice floes in the water. About…one-seventy miles south-east of Pearl, over."

 _"Warlock, that's impossible."_

"Yeah, I know," said Dash. "But we're seeing it."

There was a very long, very frightening silence on the line. _"Confirm. Proceed with mission, over."_

Dash scowled under his oxygen mask. "Copy that, Warlock out."

 _"This is some fucked-up shit, man,"_ groused Sponge.

—|—|—

Admiral Kinsey clenched his hands together, staring over white knuckles at the CIC display. His muscles were tense, he hoped none of the staff noticed. Every breath was a prayer nowadays. "Come on, Warlock," he breathed.

 _"There!"_ Dash's voice crackled over the feed. _"Ten–eleven o'clock. Right on the horizon."_

 _"Goddamn she's big!"_ gasped Sponge.

 _"Okay, making my run now,"_ said Dash. _"Looks like…two large battleships and two – three, three smaller ones, plus escorts."_

 _"Bismarcks and Scharnhorsts?"_ asked Booster.

 _"I'll buy it,"_ Dash grunted. _"We'll see what the spooks think. You getting this?"_

An ONI officer glanced up from his huddle of monitors long enough to flash a thumbs-up.

"We're getting you Warlock," said a radioman.

 _"Alright, Booster, go."_

 _"On it. Okay…there's…looks like another ship – two ships in the middle of the formation."_

 _"Smaller–"_

 _"Yeah, smaller."_

 _"You think a cruiser or–"_

"Sir," the ONI spook spoke up, his words relayed almost instantly to the pilots, "We have positive ID on Bismarck."

 _"Copy that,"_ said Dash. _"You were right, Booster, big one's Bisko."_

"No!" The ONI officer shook his head. "No! The small one. The–the smallest of the three."

 _"Aw, shit,"_ said Dash with the level of understated horror only an astronaut or naval aviator could muster. _"You got what you needed, Pearl?"_

"That's affirm, Warlock."

"Then we are outta –"

 _"Dash! Go Defensive!"_

—|—|—

"SHIT!" Dash cursed as brilliant tracers tore past his cockpit, stitching the plot of air he'd occupied instants before with a hail of lead. Moments later a blur of camouflage gray tore through, already clawing back altitude for another pass. "Where the _fuck_ did he come from!"

 _"High in the sun,"_ Booster's voice was even higher than usual. She kicked her Hornet on its wingtip and punched the blowers. Fuel be dammed, they'd tank when they died. _"I didn't see 'em."_

"None of us did," said Dash, spitting every word against the g-forces crushing him into his seat. His head was on a swivel, muscles screaming against the acceleration piling on his helmet. "Three o-clock high!"

The Abyssal fighters were already forming up for another pass. Square wings, backs like razors, and round-squat noses. Fw-190s. The American Hornets should out-match them in every way, but the past few months had proven just the opposite.

"On me!" Dash pushed his Hornet to the deck and shoved the throttles through the firewall. Knots poured on as the jet's afterburners roared with primal fury. The Hornet was not a particularly fast aircraft. But dear Lord could it turn. You could ask it to stick its nose up its own tailpipe if you wanted.

"Come on, come on, come on," Dash muttered to his jet, craning his neck to check his six. The air frame shuddered as it muscled past the sound barrier, engines roaring in his ears. "Come on, girl."

The butcher birds should've been falling behind, but nobody told them that. One after another they tore from the heavens in furious dives, closing with the Hornets like the jets were standing still.

"Break!" Dash gasped as his Hornet slammed him against his harness. Ships were girls, and planes were too. But this plane…oh, she liked it rough. For a moment he held then turn. Then… "Reverse!"

He and Booster flipped, crossing each others' paths in a Thach weave. Sidewinders howled in his ear, hungry and desperate for the kill. With a squeeze of his finger he obliged them, firing first one than the other into the Focke-Wulf chasing his wingman.

 _"Good kill! Good Kill!"_ barked Sponge.

Dash glanced back in time to see the fighter crash into the ocean with a billowing fireball.

 _"Looks like they're going for home,"_ said Booster.

"Yeah," Dash glanced at his fuel gauge. "We are too."

—|—|—

She hadn't lied. When the Snow Queen said her beloved sister deserved nothing less than the Pacific's most perfect pearl to be her new nursery and throne, it was the truth. She loved her sister dearly, a random atoll in the middle of a hungry ocean was far too mean an appointment for such a proud predator of the seas, only Pearl itself would do.

But…she hadn't told the whole truth. Her home fortress was deep in Abyssal territory. Its defenses were impregnable, hundreds of miles of hostile ocean in every direction holding it apart from any who'd dare do her or her brood harm. But that very ocean that gave her safety was also her damnation.

It'd been scoured clean. Every last drop of lifegiving blood devoured by a war machine grown to immensity off the seemingly limitless feast spilled in the war's opening days. Those had been happy times. The waves ran red in every corner of the world, every coast was gripped with mortal terror. The Abyss had fed well in those days, gorged itself like it hadn't in decades and birthed forth a vast and terrible force.

Those days were long gone. The prey, once such easy pickings now banded together in heavily-armed convoys. The shores were either defended or picked clean of any nourishment. Her island fortress was untenable, the last few prisoners she had a carefully rationed resource. She couldn't sustain herself, let alone her sister and her spawn.

If she wanted to survive she had but one option. Forwards. Attack.

Already fierce hunger pangs were clawing at her stomach. Not the constant, smoldering hunger all children of the Abyss felt, but something real and sharp. The torturous agony of starvation had sunk its fangs deep into her icy flesh. She knew her sister was in no better shape, but she was so hungry…

Her sister was…thick with child. Slowed by the vast weight in her womb, vulnerable.

The Snow Queen licked her teeth and scowled. Her hunger could wait just a little longer, she'd fall upon her foe soon enough. Then she would feast. They would all feast.

—|—|—


	21. Chapter 20: The Last Battleship

"Three days." Battleship New Jersey braced her sneaker against the vacant chair ahead of her, her face set in a murderous scowl. She was cramped, miserable, and furious. She'd been in the briefing room before, but everything felt so much more heightened now. She was intensely aware of the walls boxing her in, of how her hips were too wide for the seat and she had to sit at an angle to keep from jamming bolts into her flanks. The air stank of old, cheap coffee and stale donuts. "Three _fucking_ days!"

The battleship slammed her fist against the armrest. Her blood boiled in her veins, and she was fully aware she wasn't in total control of her mental faculties. She was just too mad to give two shits about it. "Not even. We got back at…what…three in the fucking morning?"

"Three-twenty," said Naka. The little orange road-safety device scrolled through her phone with a dour look. She'd had to cut a stream short to make the briefing. Apparently, her fans weren't taking it well.

"And I spent all that either eating or sleeping," grumbled Jersey. Her stomach was tied up in knots, and for once in her life she _didn't_ feel hungry. "Hell…" She glanced at the trio of watches strapped around her wrist. "Day's barely half gone. That makes one and a half goddamn days of R and R."

"We were lucky to get so much," said Musashi. The towering chocolate battlewagon sat two chairs down from New Jersey. Her posture was impeccable, almost angrily stiff as she glared at the screen. The muscles in her thighs were taut, her gloved hands were tightly-clenched fists, and words came as choppy fragments.

"Yeah, I know." Jersey scowled, more at herself than anything. For most sailors, a few days of downtime refueling and waiting for a new mission would be heaven. Having her leave cut short shouldn't even register. Under normal circumstances it wouldn't, but Jersey was on edge. Everything bothered her. She was already frustrated, and now everything she encountered just intensified that frustration.

A door opened with a creak, cutting through the heavy atmosphere filling the briefing room. The Taffies were already on their feet, Jersey came in second only due to the time it took to disentangle her long legs from the chair in front of her. "Admiral on deck!"

"As you were," said Admiral Williams. "This isn't going to be easy," he said, fixing Jersey with an intense – but at the same time almost gentle – look. "For anyone. But Pearl's under imminent attack."

The screen behind him flickered into life, displaying a collage of aerial photographs. Seven massive battleships and their escorts barreling through a frigid sea.

" _Mein Gott_ ," Prinz Eugen gasped, her voice a pale shadow of its usually bubbly self.

"ONI's still chewing through the data," said Williams. "But it's imperative we reinforce Pearl immediately. Battleships New Jersey, Musashi, and Kongo, along with aircraft carrier Shinano –"

The littlest Yamato blushed and mumbled something under her breath.

"– and attendant escort ships are to leave for Naval Base San Diego on the hour." Williams coughed. "Make what arrangements you have to, we'll have a plane waiting for you when you arrive. Dismissed."

—|—|—

Captain John Henry Solomon stood on the bridge of the battleship _Missouri_. _His_ battleship. It was a phrase no other man on earth could utter truthfully. _Wisconsin_ was resting at the bottom of the Gulf, _Iowa_ was little more than a gutted parts hulk, and _New Jersey_ had reincarnated into a beautifully leggy young woman. There was only one fighting battleship left in the world, and she was his.

"Attention all hands," Solomon cradled the handset against his chin. "This is the Captain." He paused, and heard the ship groan with anticipation as every ear strained for his words. The ship herself too, of course. She had a soul after all, he was sure of it. "We steam into battle against a force seven times our number and ten times our weight. And though we ride the mightiest battleship ever built, I cannot say with any certainty that we will survive."

The only sound audible was the distant roar of Mo's turbines.

"What I can say with certainty," Solomon ran his hand along Mo's ancient steel. It was a brisk day out, but the metal was warm to his touch. "What I've had proven…what we've _all_ had proven conclusively, right in front of our eyes, again and again, is that valor and duty live forever."

"We will fight," he said, "In defense of our home. If need be we will die in defense of it and rest in _Missouri's_ sweet embrace until our nation calls upon our aid once again. So, I ask you, crew of the battleship Missouri, do you want to live forever?"

"Well said, Captain," said Commander Holland with his rumbling New England brogue. The XO smiled.

Solomon allowed himself a brief smile. "Thank me later, I want us in full fighting shape. Find every safety and governor she's got and get rid of it."

"Sir," Holland nodded.

 _Missouri_ shivered under her captain's fingers, eager as any of her crew to join the battle.

—|—|—

Sarah Gale stood in the back of the base CIC, a heaping salad sitting forgotten next to her. It wasn't that she'd lost her appetite, carrying a shipgirl's child left her constantly hungry. But she just couldn't eat. Not now, anyways. She tucked her hands under her arms to keep them from fidgeting and stared at the screens dominating the walls.

"Couldn't stay away either?" Crowning brought a steaming cup of coffee almost to his lips. But before he took a sip the smell turned to ash and he set it down with a worried scowl.

"Yeah," Gale nodded. She knew the feeling. "Just…it's home, you know?"

Crowning nodded. "Uh," he coughed and glanced at the tactical plot. "Is…are we just sending Mo?"

"And her battlegroup, yeah," said Gale.

"No planes?"

"Wouldn't make a difference," said the sailor. "They've got a carrier with them, our Hornets'd get chewed up and spat out by their Focke-Wulfs." She shrugged. "Mo's got top cover though, and Aegis destroyers with her. We can't touch them, but they can't touch us."

"Just a gun-fight then?"

"Yeah," said Gale.

"They've got an awful lot of guns," muttered Crowning.

Gale nodded. Her stomach was tied up in knots, and she'd swear the baby in her belly was just as nervous as she was. "Yeah, well…you, uh, you know how Jersey's always bragging?"

"How could I not?" Crowning forced a grin.

"She's got a point," said Gale. "Best battleship ever built."

"But seven-on-one?"

Gale glanced at him, but the words just wouldn't come.

—|—|—

"UAV on station, sir."

"Mmm," Captain Solomon nodded, his face all but unreadable under his flash hood and heavy winter uniform. It'd been unseasonably chilly back in Pearl, but out in the open ocean it was downright frigid. Frozen wind cut through the bridge like a flurry of knives, and the sea was choking on ice floes. So far, none were big enough to present a risk to his ship. Hopefully that'd remain the case. "Link it into the network."

—|—|—

Gale gasped as live aerial reconnaissance footage flickered onto the biggest screen. It was one thing to read about the force barreling towards Pearl, but to see it with her own eyes? They were bigger than she'd imagined, enormously vast battleships steaming though an icy sea that looked more like Tierra Del Fuego than the equatorial Pacific.

But…that one ship. The smallest of the heavies, a _Bismarck_ -class. But…its shape was all wrong in ways Gale couldn't describe, wrong even compared to the uncannily unfamiliar shape of an Abyssal. It was nestled in the center of the formation, like it was being…

"Oh, my God," Gale found herself clutching her own stomach. "She's _pregnant_!"

—|—|—

"Solution locked in!"

"Thank you, TAO," said Solomon. Mo's gunfire control system was the most advanced of its kind ever built. With her radar, computers, and stable-gyros, she could lock in a pinpoint-perfect solution almost five miles before her mighty super-sixteens could cover the distance.

On paper, it was easy. His ship had an almost fifteen-thousand-yard range advantage. She could shoot on the move and had the speed to hold the range open. Mo could still put shells through the same splash at ranges where the Abyssal warships would shake their directors to pieces just trying to acquire her. Or at least, the German battleships they were based on would.

Things were never that easy. Not in this war. Shipgirls were magic, born of the love their crews had for the inanimate metal box that was all that stood between them and a watery grave in the crushing depths. Abyssals had their own magic, but it was born of hate. Of fear.

The Abyssals weren't what they were. They weren't even what their crews thought of them. They were the fears of their foes given form in metal and fire. Maybe, if he was lucky, they'd have the same faults. He wasn't going to bet on it though.

And then there was this damn ice. Mo was a tough ship, but even she couldn't take a iceberg to the nose at flank. Not without tearing herself open at the seams. He'd seen ice before, but not like these. There was something…malevolent about those floes.

"Sir, we're in range."

"Fire!"

—|—|—

"YES!" Naka pumped her little fist in the air and howled at the top of her lungs. For such a tiny little cruiser, she sure cold yell.

"What?" Jersey tacked over more sharply than was strictly speaking necessary. Under normal circumstances, the idea of Naka – or _anyone_ – 'live-tweeting' something would have filled her with a seething rage that no mortal woman could match. These were not normal circumstances. "What happened?"

"Mo's engaged," Naka tilted her phone to Jersey. "First-round hit on a cruiser. Blew it right out of the water!"

Jersey beamed with pride. "Hell yeah, that's my sister!"

—|—|—

"Um, Gale?" Crowning coughed.

"Huh?" Gale knew she shouldn't be smiling. The battle had just begun, but…that was one _hell_ of an opening salvo.

"Why, uh…why's she shooting the little ones?"

"The screen?" said Gale. "Mo's got a huge range advantage, but her air defense isn't what it used to be."

"But the Abyssals can't use their airplanes, right?"

Gale shook her head. "Not while those Aegis destroyers are in play. But if a cruiser gets around her while she's busy with the heavies…"

"Ah," Crowning nodded.

"Relax, Doc," Gale put a hand on his shoulder, nervously cradling the minute swell of her middle with the other. "Mo's got this in hand."

—|—|—

Nine sixteen-inch rifles thundered over the frigid Pacific. Even hunkered down on the bridge bundled in layers of cold-weather gear, Captain Solomon felt the concussion in his chest like a super-heavyweight's punch. "Helm, shift your rudder!"

"Aye-aye, captain!" Barked the helmsman. He needn't have bothered. The moment his hands touched the wheel Mo moved the way only fifty-eight thousand tons of steel moving at a dead sprint could. Her deck heeled over, her slender bow biting into the frigid surf and smashing through a chunk of ice the size of a semi-truck.

Solomon watched his shells arc through the air with breathless, unblinking focus. His target was over the horizon, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. Not yet.

—|—|—

The Snow Queen roared in fury as yet another of her precious escorts shuddered under the _Iowa's_ brutal attack. A shell – maybe two – had slammed into the demon's superstructure just aft of B-turret. It hadn't stopped until it'd found and obliterated the boilers. She bared her teeth and screamed at her fleet. "I want that ship _DEAD!_ "

—|—|—

"Sir, two more breaking from the pack."

"I'm," Solomon took a second look at the ice-pack sliding past Mo's flank. It was practically big enough to swallow her whole. The ice was getting thicker now, his steering commands revolved more around staying clear than any tactical concerns now. "I'm aware. I'm aware. Engage at TAO's discretion."

—|—|—

"That's a lot of ice," said Crowning, more to himself than anyone.

"Yeah," Gale scowled. It was hard to tell, the drone's cameras were focused mostly on the battle itself. But…but the ice was getting thicker. Almost like it was hemming them in.

"What happens if she hits one?"

"You remember Titanic?"

Crowning nodded.

"She hit the ice at twenty-one knots," said Gale, cradling her middle protectively at the thought. So what if she didn't _look_ pregnant? "Mo's doing close to thirty-four."

—|—|—

"Left standard rudder!" Solomon barked, clenching his fingers against the warm, warm metal of Mo's bridge. The ship heeled into the turn like a dozen ships he'd been on before. But Mo was…different. She was by far the heaviest ship he'd ever sailed on, but she moved like a ballerina on stage. Every motion weighty, but effortless. The sea wasn't just her home, it was her stage. A wickedly sharp iceberg slipped past her flank, barely even scratching Mo's splinter-pattern paintwork.

Solomon gave it a few seconds to get behind them before barking his next order. "Switch your rudder!"

Mo's graceful turn slowed, halted, and then reversed as she danced through the floes far more light-footed than anything of her immense weight should be able to manage. She moved like quicksilver on glass. But one need only glance aft at the wake of angrily frothing water her screws had whipped into compliance to see the true might of the battleship _Missouri._

"Sir," Holland barked. " _Chafee's_ free of the ice and floating."

"Good," Solomon smiled and allowed himself a brief glance at the stricken DDG. A berg the size of a freight train came out of nowhere and plowed into the _Burke's_ side. She was down by the bow with an angry list, but she was still floating. She still flew her battle flag with pride. "Tell her to head home, her fight's over now."

"Aye, sir."

"Sir!" The bridge talker yelped. "Incoming airborne threat."

"They wouldn't dare," scowled Holland. _Chafee_ might be down for the count, but her cells were still loaded and her radars still – mostly – worked. Even then, Mo had another trio of DDGs escorting her.

"Keep me posted, but let the destroyers handle it," said Solomon.

The sailor's reply was swallowed up by the thunderous concussion of Mo's mighty rifles.

—|—|—

"Those aren't carrier planes, right?" Crowning pointed at the screen. The bulk of the Abyssal air attack came from sleek single-engine planes jinking through the air in frantic – but eventually pointless – attempts to shake the single-minded killing machines vomited forth on great smoking columns by the remaining Aegis destroyer.

But there were a few bigger planes – maybe a dozen – that looked far too large for any carrier. Any carrier except maybe the Northern Princess. Their wings were broad and hung with podded engines, their noses rounded and blunt.

"Nah," Gale shook her head. "They look like…Griffons maybe?"

Crowning shot her a questioning look, wordlessly taking her trembling hand in his.

"Heinkels," said Gale, offering a fleeting smile at the touch. She wished Wash could be here with her, but the battleship had patrol duty with Kirishima. Still, that slight touch…it was nice to know she wasn't alone. "Big four-engined bastards. Maybe outta Johnston, they've about got the range."

Crowning nodded. "What're they doing?"

"Waiting," said Gale. "I…I think. Hanging back out of range. Maybe waiting for us to reload."

"Do destroyers _need_ to reload?"

"Nope," said Gale with a wicked grin.

—|—|—

The air stank of burning rocket fuel and smoldering metal. Mo's escorts were swathed in a haze of their own missile exhaust, and the air was full of burning planes arguing into the deck. Not one had even gotten a bomb off, let alone landed a blow on the big Iowa. "Helm –"

Before he could finish his order, a hasty yelp came from the talker. Words any skipper dreaded to hear, but the captain of a battleship most of all. "VAMPIRE! VAMPIRE! VAMPIRE!"

"Hard right rudder!" Solomon bellowed, scanning the horizon for—there! A spread of four, maybe five Fritz-X glide bombs coming right at him. Just one of those things could muscle past Mo's deck and deposit it's seven-hundred-pound charge _wherever it damn well pleased._ There was a reason battleships were obsolete, and the cruise missile was it. "Back emergency starboard screws!"

Mo buckled into the turn. There was no grace this time, no elegance to her maneuver. Her anti-fouling flashed as she desperately jinked the lethal missiles, turning harder than she'd ever turned before. One of the destroyers – _Halsey_ , maybe – erupted in a spray of CIWS shells but to no avail.

Two of the missiles slammed into the frigid ocean, one punched a hole through a berg like it was made of glass. The fourth slammed into her side just below the helicopter deck, missing the citadel by inches on its express trip through _Missouri's_ aft and slamming into the water with a great splash.

Solomon didn't have time to celebrate. The last-minute had saved his ship, but it put him on a course straight for an iceberg the size of a skyscraper. If Mo so much as brushed that it'd tear her open like a tin can.

"Helm–!" It didn't matter. There was nowhere to turn. Everywhere he looked was ice. That left once thing. "All back emergency, unlock rudders. Open the doors!"

For a moment nothing happened. Then the very laws of physics themselves stepped out for a smoke and the battleship _Missouri_ did what to all appearances should've been impossible. In one instant she was steaming squarely towards a mountain of ice at almost thirty knots. The very next heartbeat she'd stopped dead in her tracks.

Solomon grunted, his knee – along with every last unsecured item on the entire ship – slammed against the forward bulkhead. Mo's nose buried itself in the frigid surf, just kissing the ice before she settled back on her haunches.

—|—|—

"Way to go Mo!" Jersey roared her approval, pumping her fist in the air with reckless abandon. "Did you see that?"

"I'm the one who showed it to you," said Naka with a smirk.

"That's my goddamn sister!"

—|—|—

"How…" Every word was agony for the snow queen. "Is…" Every fiber, every frame, every bulkhead of her existence was nothing but pure undiluted hate. "She…" Forcing her rebel flesh to forge coherent thoughts out of the all-consuming rage boiling within her took every scrap of focus she had left. "Not _dead?!_ "

—|—|—

"Alright, back us off," said Solomon. The massive iceberg that'd almost been their damnation was now their savior. The giant rock of ice shuddered as shell after shell slammed into its vast white face. Mo's bow was covered with shards of ice shaken loose by the furious barrage, but that was the extent of the damage.

"Sir."

Solomon smiled, gently rubbing his glove against the bridge rail. "Sorry girl, that had to hurt."

If Mo was upset at the maneuver, she didn't seem to mind. Her rudders were dragging, but her screws were as quick to pick up speed as they ever were. Slowly at first, but quickly now she hauled herself out of her icy prison, angling to keep the ice between her and her foe until she built up speed again.

—|—|—

The Raider Princess clutched her swollen stomach, biting back shrieks of agony as the spawn within tore at her womb. They were full-grown now, ready to prowl the seas as a predator should. They knew it, every instinct they had was screaming at them to rid themselves of this prison, this tomb they were encased in.

It took every scrap of self-control the Princess had left to hold them in. To delay her labor just long enough to reach her new fortress. Her sister's fleet would – must – make landfall soon.

"There!" She roared, fixing her eyeless gaze at that thrice-dammed iceberg. It was sheltering her foe, but not competently. For a moment she saw a shape of black and gray and she let loose with everything she had.

—|—|—

"Ahead flank!" Captain Solomon barked with proper military professionalism, but beneath it all he seethed. They'd hurt his ship, his men. A lucky shot, one in a million from the very edge of the envelope, but still the Abyssal shells had found their mark. Two had slammed into her side, wrecking her five-inch battery and savaging – but thankfully not penetrating – her belt. Another had clipped her stern, wrecking one of her already-loosened rudders.

Mo shuddered as her screws bit into the ocean, then moments later she buckled down and bullied the ocean out of her way. She came around the berg already going twenty knots with one of the mid-sized Abyssal battleships staring her down from barely twelve-thousand yards.

"Target si –"

"FIRE!" thundered Solomon.

Mo's rifles spoke as one, hurling a tightly-packed pattern of screaming super-heavy shell at the battleship. Solomon was already ordering a course change, desperately swinging Mo's aft around to spoil their solution.

He needn't have bothered. Nine super-heavy sixteen-inch shells struck true, swatting aside the Abyssals' turtle back armor like it was tissue paper and burrowing deep into the battleship's structure. Armor steel rippled like paper as boilers erupted, blowing out the deck and almost shattering the ship in two. Moments later the fore magazine joined the conflagration, tearing the ship apart into a towering column of spray.

—|—|—

"That's my _fucking_ sister!" Jersey howled with pride. "Naka, tell me you taped that!"

Naka flashed a thumbs-up.

—|—|—

"Direct hit forwards! Fire in the forward compartments!"

Solomon grunted. Their little gun show had drawn the attention of the rest of the Abyssal fleet. Nineteen-inch shells from one of the super-heavies had found their mark, tearing through the _Iowa's_ inclined belt and savaging her inside the citadel. Water poured through a gash in her flank, hammering against her bulkheads and further exacerbating the damage, but thankfully the main battery had been spared.

Mo was hurt, but she could still fight. Her reply came in the form of a furious volley into the super-heavy who'd wounded her. At this range – at _any_ range – Mo couldn't miss. Her shells slammed home with decisive finality.

The Abyssal's after two turrets erupted in gouts of flame. One of its fore turrets was jammed in place by a shell square to the turret ring, and its turtle-backed flank was violated by diving shells falling nearly square against the inclined slope. Its stacked belched a cough of black smoke and it shuddered as its speed evaporated. Five-inch shells peppered its hull, starting fires and flooding every compartment they could reach.

Just before her shells hit home, the Abyssal managed to get a volley off on Mo. The shells must've passed each other in the air. But where Mo's slammed home with certainty, the Abyssal's barrage was scattered. Half the rounds were clean misses, the rest tore open compartments, flooding the _Iowa_ but avoiding anything really crucial.

Solomon allowed himself a smile. One battleship dead, one mortally wounded, all in less than five minutes. "New target, engage!"

—|—|—

"Ohmigawd!" Jersey squealed, "My sister's the coolest!"

—|—|—

 _Missouri_ shuddered as a barrage of 15-inch shells slammed into her belt. At this range, even her impressive armor couldn't keep out the supersized Teutonic sledgehammers. "Damage!"

"Sir, we've lost portside shafts!"

Solomon growled. There was no way Mo could make it home now, not with two shafts down and half her compartments flooding or burning. But she was an _Iowa._ While she floated, she fought. "Keep firing!" he barked. "And run out our battle flag. Nail it to the damn mast if you have to!"

"Sir!"

Mo's massive turrets swung over with decided finality, fixing the last Abyssal super-heavy, the one that'd crippled her with a lucky broadside. One by one the mighty rifles dropped from their loading angles and bored in on their targets.

The two battleships fired at almost the same instant. The Abyssal salvo was tighter than before, wrecking Mo's C-turret with a hit that would've detonated it if she had any shells loaded. The _Iowa's_ belly was torn open, round after round battering through her armor and tearing her machinery spaces to shreds.

But Mo's barrage found its mark as well. If the Almighty himself had reached down from heaven to personally shepherd each shell to its chosen destination, He couldn't have done a better job. Super-heavy shells tore into the Abyssal's citadel, obliterating her its boilers and detonating inside the fore magazine.

In the instant before the Abyssal super-heavy vanished into a pillar of spray, a single five-inch shell from Mo's last remaining secondary battery found its mark and punched clean through the unarmored bridge shelter.

—|—|—

"Naka, what happened?" demanded Jersey, practically giddy with excitement.

"Um…" Naka's voice was very quiet. She held her phone tightly to her chest and couldn't quite meet Jersey's icy eyes.

"Naka…" Jersey's energy dimmed into a scowl. "Dammit you…fucking traffic cone."

"Jersey," Naka bit her lip, "You, um…"

Jersey froze, her scowl slowly turning sullen. "Is…"

"Yeah." Naka gulped. "Jersey, I'm…"

"No," Jersey shook her head. "I'll see her again. Eventually. Um…Kongou?"

"Dess?" said the Japanese battleship.

"Could, uh, you take command of the fleet for a minute?"

—|—|—

The Snow Queen clenched her craggy teeth, barely holding back the roar of anger building in her throat. She _should_ turn back, she knew. Two of her mightiest warships had been destroyed – not even destroyed, _obliterated._ The spawn of her very womb had been wiped off this earth without a _thought_ , without a _moment's hesitation_ by her traitorous foe.

Yet another of her mighty demons was naught but a crippled hulk. A toothless corpse barely capable of even limping to a graving dock for repair. Her screen had been savaged, her air cover decimated, by all reasonable logic she should abandon her pursuit and break for friendly territory.

If only that was an option. Her fortress had been picked clean before she left, turning back only meant that – if by some miracle her bunkers lasted long enough to complete the journey – she'd have the luxury of starving to death in a familiar surround. The battle with that traitorous battleship had slackened her appetite somewhat, but after dividing the spoils between her vast armada, the Snow Queen's share had been pitifully short.

She glanced at her sister. The princess was thick with child, her face a pallid mask of agony as she clutched at her swollen belly. Not cradled, but _clutched._ Her demons were full-grown now, hungry and ready for the hunt. The torment of labor was upon her now, and there was only so long the Princess could resist. In time, her hungry demons would simply tear their way free.

There was no other option. The Snow Queen grit her teeth and pulled her vast greatcoat smooth. It had to be Pearl, and it had to be now. Her sister would have a throne, her fleet would have a base, and she would have a fresh hunting ground.

Of course…she wouldn't have to take the islands. Not all at once. The Snow Queen ran a vast taloned gauntlet over her middle. Her belly was swollen with blood, but she could tell it was already curdling to life within her. Normally, she'd let the vast legions filling her womb fight and mature until only the strongest were left. But…

But if she could just get a foothold, she could birth forth an army and seize the rest. She _would_ have her feeding ground. And her dear sister…her sister would have a worthy throne.

—|—|—

"N-need a r-refill s-sir?" Yeoman Laura Keys proffered a shaky smile to Admiral Kinsey. Her nose was an angry red and even bundled in her chemical suit the Hawaiian native was visibly shivering.

Kinsey nodded and offered his half-empty mug. It'd been full of steaming coffee moments ago, he hadn't even drunk all of it before it turned frigid and stale. It was the same story all over the base, all over the damn _island._ Warmth was nowhere to be found, what little embers could be scraped together died in a breath. "You doing okay, Yeoman?"

Keys nodded. "I-it's warmer down here, sir."

Kinsey scowled. It was bitterly cold in the CIC, but at least it was – barely – above freezing thanks to all the computers. Topside temperatures were rapidly approaching negatives, and roads were too choked with snow and ice to do anything meaningful about it. Breaking out chemical suits and scrounging what they could from the civilian population – what was left of it. All but the most stubborn had been evacuated months ago – was all they could do.

"It's the damn Russian Front up there," Kinsey grumbled to himself, taking brief sip of his refilled mug. He was fighting two elements now, cold and the deep. It was only a question of who landed the killing blow first. "What's the status on our reinforcements?"

"Th-they should j-just be pulling in t-to San D-Diego any d-day now," said Keys.

"We'll hold until they arrive," said Kinsey with what he hoped was grim conviction. But he knew – and Keys probably did too – that the situation was more perilous than ever. Mo had been their heavy hitter. With her gone, Pearl still had its Harpoons and a few batteries of tube artillery that – while predictably useless against warships – would at least help keep any landing force at bay.

Assuming, of course, the men manning them didn't freeze to death first.

—|—|—

High over the frigid central pacific, demons rode on silent wings. Thirty transports glided through the freezing, cloudless night without so much as whisper. Each was packed with crack shock troopers bundled in heavy overcoats and goggle-eyed gas masks with side-feeding rifles by their shoulders.

They were only the first, the cutting tip of a spear of lighting. But their job was crucial, and the Snow Queen gave them her full attention. Instruments of the same will working in perfect orchestral harmony, the gliders broke formation. Each formed up with its squad-mates, angling towards its objective with only the whisper of wind against canvas to shatter the night silence.

—|—|—

"S-sir?" Yeoman Keys would've blushed if her face wasn't already flush from the cold. A nervous puff of misty breath curled from her lips and she fruitlessly tried to rub some warmth into her hands.

"Yeoman?" Kinsey scowled. He was in the middle of planning the counter-offensive with Admiral Williams. Keys knew that. For her to interrupt him now…well there were a number of possible reasons, none of them good.

"We've l-lost contact with our Harpoon batteries."

Kinsey's scowl deepened. Landlines were down all over the island as wind, cold, and trucks driven by men who'd never even seen snow in their lives took their toll. Radios were failing left and right too as batteries ran flat in the cold. "Which one?"

"A-all of them," said Keyes. "S-sir."

Before Kinsey could say anything, the island buckled under his feet and sent him crashing to the floor.

—|—|—

The midnight horizon burned white-hot. Naval rifles of every caliber joined their concussion to the vast thundering choir as every ship in the fleet poured fury into the insolent little island. But none, _none_ , fought with such virulent hatred as the Raider Princess herself.

She was in agony. For hours her body had been a battleground, wracked by the triple ravages of her body's torment of labor, her will's iron focus to keep her demons safely within her until her sister could secure a birthing dock, and her demons' single-minded devotion to tearing their way to freedom.

Even within her they could _smell_ the blood painting the ocean crimson. It was criminal to deny them their bounty, but the Princess knew her rifles were needed. She had to keep fighting. Just a little longer, she told herself. Her mouth was awash in blood and the shattered remains of her own teeth. Her body shuddered with contractions that threatened to tear her keel apart, but she couldn't let go. Not just yet.

She had to fight, to secure a fresh hunting ground for herself and her demons. She bit her lip, twisted metal shards biting into pallid flesh as her womb roiled like a tank of starving piranha. Her demons were tearing into her from within, she could feel it. The ecstasy and agony filled her vision with stars, but she forced herself to ignore it.

Just a little longer… Her batteries roared again! Every drop of fury and agony poured into their breaches. Every drop of hate the Princess felt she directed solely at that _damn island_ , building a storm of her detest that would wipe clean the filthy infestation.

"FIRE!" she roared.

—|—|—

"Why the hell –" Kinsey winced as the bunker shook from yet another thundering barrage. It _should_ hold but…but those guns were _massive_ and it wasn't the kind of experiment he'd like to bet his life on. "Why are they still coming? They have to know we'll reinforce soon!"

"T-they," It was hard to tell what was making Keys stammer more, the cold or her own fear. "They m-might not h-have a ch-choice, sir."

"Not what I wanted to hear, Yeoman," said Kinsey. He'd read _Art of War_ , every officer had. If you back your enemy into a corner with fight or die as his only options, he'll fight still fiercer than ever before. And garden-variety Abyssals were aplenty fierce for him.

—|—|—

There were no landing craft.

One moment, artillery men were fighting with numb fingers to get their guns aligned, hoping against hope they might get a lucky hit on some unarmored component. Some golden BB that'd stop the fusillade rippling from the battle-fleet offshore.

The next, tanks erupted from the waves, falling upon the shore like spray off a breaker. The concussion of eight-eights and long seventy-fives roared along the coast. The frantic chatter of M-16s and bark of belt-fed M-240s was met by the buzz-saw roar of Abyssal machine guns and soon consumed by the hammering cadence of jackbooted feet.

xXxXxXxXx

UN: I don't know about you, but the onion ninja clans are on the hunt, and if you read this you are an easy picking to them. "I'll see her again….eventually." Perhaps a holiday to cheer up, like "Iowa-class appreciation Day"?

Caboose Out


	22. Chapter 21: Pretext

Jersey stood at the front of the briefing room, grinding her fists into her hips. She couldn't sit still, couldn't even dismiss the massive revolvers hanging off her gunbelt. She seethed with… with something she couldn't define. Anger, yes. Frustration, sadness, fear… Whatever the fuck it was, she was feeling too damn much of it to even think about sitting down and getting sorted.

With a cheerful electronic chirp that grated on the battleship's nerves like shotgunning ground glass, Admiral Williams' stern visage flashed into being on a screen. Jersey reflexively snapped to attention, but even that shock wasn't enough to dismiss her guns or fully coalesce her fragmented mind. "Attention on deck!"

 _"As you were,"_ said Williams. _"Commander."_ His voice was the same wise, measured rasp as usual, but somehow Jersey felt something she hadn't felt before. A tiny undercurrent of warmth. It wasn't the tone of an Admiral talking to his sailors, but a father talking to his little girls.

Which, if Jersey was being honest, was what she felt like. Not a proud battleship commanding the seas with her presence. But a scared, frustrated little girl adrift in a storm she could only hope to ride out. "Sir," the battleship's lips parted. Before, she'd been boiling with rage, now she just wanted to curl up and cry. She bit her tongue, focusing on the pain to center herself. "What… what happened?"

 _"Missouri gave her all,"_ said Williams with a hint of a smile. The man was proud, as he damn well should be. How Mo went down… it made everyone in the navy just a little bit better just by wearing the same uniform. _"She inflicted heavy casualties on the abyssal battle fleet before—"_ The Admiral caught himself before he continued.

 _"We'd hoped—expected—that with their fleet so severely mauled, our enemy would have no choice but to withdraw and give us time to fortify."_ Williams paused, his face an angry mask. It was the look of a man going back through every decision he'd ever made and trying to count the lives each one cost. It was a look Jersey knew well, she saw it every time she looked in a mirror. _"Instead they pressed their attack with ever greater ferocity."_

The screen flickered over to an aerial photograph. A photograph that'd been taken from a higher altitude than Jersey was used to, but one whose subject was unmistakably Oahu. The tropical paradise Jersey knew so well stood out like an emerald jewel against the azure tropical waters.

But there was a scar at pearl. A vast ugly gash bleeding stark, lifeless white into the lush green.

"Mein Gott," Prinz Eugen shuddered and hugged herself tightly. "That looks worse than Norway."

 _"It is,"_ said Williams. _"This far, and despite the best efforts of both Marines and Soldiers, the cold has stymied any attempt at a counter-offensive."_

"Okay, that's…" Jersey pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's all well and good, but can I just address the _fucking_ elephant in the room here?" Her trembling hand came to her side and she glared at the photo. "How the FUCK did they land on GODDAMN PEARL IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACE!" After a moment of deep, angry breathing she realized how loudly she'd just shouted and sheepishly bit her lip. "…Sir."

 _"Commander,"_ Williams gave Jersey a long, somewhat gentle look. _"You speak for all of us. Though, perhaps more eloquently."_

"Thank you, sir," said Jersey meekly.

 _"Abyssal forces attacked with incredible speed and ferocity. Almost before we realize the attack had begun, their tanks were rolling up the beaches."_

"Nobody saw the landing craft?" asked Lou.

 _"There were none,"_ said Williams with bitter resignation.

"Okay," Jersey threw her pen down, burying it up to the cap in drywall. "That's bullshit."

"But—"

"Stuff it, Poi. I know where you're going."

Yuudachi lowered her hand and settled back on her chair.

 _"The Abyssals would have to raise their invasion fleet from the sea,"_ said Williams. _"If they can do that, why not cut out the middle man entirely."_

"Okay, point," Jersey grumbled.

"I, Musashi, have a question," the chocolate battlewagon slowly adjusted her glasses until the light gleaming off the polished lenses completely obscured her eyes. "After taking such a savaging at the hands of Missouri, surly the wisest course of action would be to break off the attack and retreat."

The briefing room was silent for a heartbeat, then Jersey slowly turned in her chair to join with every other kanmusume in staring awe-struck at the former Imperial Japanese battleship. "Okay," she said, "Are we going to address that the fucking shirtphobia motel brought up retreat as a viable option?"

 _"She's studying and training. Hard,"_ said Williams with a note of approval. _"And she raises a good point. Militarily, retreat would be the better option. But we don't believe it is an option."_

The main screen flicked over to a tighter shot. Again, it was a picture Jersey'd seen a thousand times before. But it still took her a moment to realize—to process—that under the mountains of snow and caged in by craggy floes of ice was battleship row. Only this time, the ships tied up at anchor flew bloody red ensigns, their hateful silhouettes burned into the camera like festering wounds.

 _"This ship,"_ A circle popped up around a battleship—a Bismarck-class—sitting in a flooded dry dock. Unlike the bigger and horribly mauled warship in the dock next to her, she lacked even the slightest hint of damage. _"Is the one we believe engaged Maya and Sendai. For lack of a better term, we're calling her the Raider Princess. The other has been designated the Snow Queen."_

"Okay…" Jersey nodded, not sure where he was going.

 _"The Snow Queen's been moving around the harbor, leaving behind a trail of fresh fortifications in her wake. The Princess has stayed in her dock. We think…"_ Williams trailed off, his frown deepening into a scowl. _"Gale thinks… and both Wash and Mutsu confirm, that she's pregnant and very close to delivery. "_

"O-okay," Jersey felt her lunch staging a revolt in her stomach. The thought of one of those bastards being pregnant was one thing, but if one of them was going to give birth at _Pearl_. To soil the resting place of battleship Arizona, the single most sacred place on the whole goddamn planet… "Sir. Tell me we have a plan to kick those _things_ out."

Williams nodded. _"Akagi and Kaga are bording C-5s as we speak."_

Jersey nodded. They were both much lighter than she was and should—just _barely_ —be airliftable by unmodified Galaxies. But she couldn't help but think about how miserable she'd been after her first experience with air travel. "Are they going to be fit to sail when they land?"

 _"Kaga insists that as carriers they have a natural affinity with the air."_

"So, we'll have—" Jersey caught herself when she notice Shinano quietly trying to melt into her seat in the corner. " _more_ air cover. What's the plan, sir?"

—|—|—

"No, no, no!" The snow queen screamed at the top of her lungs, physically staggering the most unfortunate of her assembled imps with the sheer concussion of her voice. "This is _not_ good enough! My sister will _not_ have this _sty_ for her birthing ward!"

Her assembled forces cowered on the exposed jetty, shivering more from terror than the bitter cold. Her temper was running hotter than usual, and her eyeless gaze noticed a thousand unacceptable—unforgivable—blemishes wherever she looked. The harbor— _her_ harbor—was a wreck. A garbage heap barely fit for a scrapyard, let alone a princess's throne.

"Look!" The Snow Queen raised a massive talon at by far the most egregious blemish tarnishing her newly-won harbor. Shattered marble lay scattered over a half-submerged wreck of rusting steel leeching oil like a festering, weeping wound. "You think this is acceptable? Clean it up!"

Before the Snow Queen could fully unleash her tirade, a shrill cry from the drydock drew her attention. Her sister had fought hard, persevered through pain she could only imagine to bring her demons to safe harbor. But even the Raider Princess' iron will had its limits. The realities of natural existence demanded that her spawn come forth, and already the agonies of labor were upon her.

"Sister," The Snow Queen hastened to her sister's side. Already, the flooded graving dock was stained red. Great scars were carved into the walls where her sister's talons had torn deep into the concrete in the vain search for some relief for the torment wracking her massive frame. Her belly was bare, ashen skin roiling as the demons within fought for position. Each was desperate to be free of their frozen cage, but none willing to place itself in such a vulnerable position.

The standoff could last for hours, days, even longer. But once begun, the pain was as exquisite as it was unending. "Sister, I am sorry," The Snow Queen took her sister's talon in her own, holding it close to her breast as the Princess convulsion with another keel-shattering contraction.

"It…" shallow breaths came like machine-gun fire through gritted teeth. "It… will… be… fine."

"No," the Snow Queen shook her head, scowling back at that putrid stain marring the harbor. "No, my sister you deserve better."

"It…" the princess howled, her free hand clutching her stomach and carving deep bleeding tears in her own flesh. "It is… good… enough."

"Not for you." The Snow Queen held her sister's hand to her bosom and squeezed with all her strength. "Not for you."

* * *

Uploader's Note: Well, I wonder who is going to die a horrible, slow death at the pace of Standard 21 knots?

As always, be sure to review so I can pass it on to the original source (Read: the actual author).


	23. Chapter 22: Thicker than Water

The last few pixels of Admiral Williams' stern visage were still fading off the screen when Jersey felt something slam into her from behind. She staggered under the impact, barely managing to dig her shoes into the carpet and stay on her feet. The sheer force of the hit knocked the wind out of her, and before she got it back strong arms clad in impossibly heavy green canvas wrapped around her waist and _squeezed._

"S-" Jersey hungrily lapped up a breath of air with what little lung capacity she had left to play with. "Shina?"

The littlest Yamato just squeezed tighter, grasping her own forearms and straining with everything she had until even her prodigious muscles shuddered under the strain. "I'm…" Her voice was even quieter than usual, tiny notes of sound interspersing heavy heaving breaths. "Hugging…" Her embrace somehow got tighter, "You."

"Okay, Shina," Jersey felt the corner of her lips twitch. "But… you can let go now."

"No," Shinano buried her nose in Jersey's back and held on tight.

"What?"

"I'm not letting go." Shinano's voice was quiet, timid, and utterly unyielding. "Not until you're better."

"Shina," Jersey tried to twist until she could at least see the support carrier's unruly mop of shaggy brown hair. "This… this isn't something you can fix with a hug."

"Don't care," said Shinano. She found some untapped reserve of strength and hugged even tighter. "It's what I can do."

Jersey stared at the big carrier wrapped around her middle, and slowly put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Thanks, kiddo." Her voice was barely a whisper, and not just because of how hard she was finding it to breathe.

"This Musashi is here for you," said a rough dusky voice that, much to Jersey's relief, was still a respectful distance away. The Iowa knew she was going to start crying soon, it she hadn't already. She'd be damned if she let Musashi see her like this. Not again.

"Whatever you need, Dess."

"What I need," Jersey grit her teeth and forced herself to hold it together. "Is to put those bitches in the ground."

Shinano nodded. Jersey could feel it, even with the carrier's face buried in her flank. It was such a small gesture, it shouldn't have meant anything to her. But it almost drove the big Iowa to tears. She screwed up her eyes, trying to force back the salt building in her eyes. When she opened them again, the world was a blur of indistinct diffracted shapes. For a moment, she thought she saw Victory standing opposite her, dressed in her finest uniform with her hat tucked sadly under her hand.

"Actually," Jersey wiped the back of her gloved hand across her face. The nomex came away darkened by wide wet streaks. "There… is one thing."

Shinano squeezed again.

"It's…" Jersey coughed and fished her shades out of her pocket. She was _not_ fucking letting the whole goddamn country see her cry. With Mo and Wisky gone and Iowa a gutted hulk, she was the last Iowa. The last super-battleship serving her country, she would be triple-damned if she gave anyone a reason to doubt their protector. "It's something I gotta do alone, kiddo."

"Oh," Shinano quietly pulled away.

"I'll make the arrangements," said Kongou. Jersey didn't question how the old British-born battle-wagon knew what was on her mind. She was just thankful Kongou'd be lending her considerable skill.

"Thanks," said Jersey. The Iowa hurried out of the briefing room, face set in a rapidly buckling mask of icy rage. She made it halfway to the motor pool before realizing she hadn't seen the Taffies. "Oh, goddammit," she cursed, spinning on her heel and driving back into the base as fast as her legs would carry her. She was mad about Pearl, but her destroyers… those little shits had room for one emotion at a time, and it sure as hell was rage right about goddamn now.

Hell, the only reason Jersey wasn't charging at Pearl right now was because she had some tiny shred of fear that she might loose her life, something those brave little _Fletchers_ had made abundantly clear they lacked all understanding of. "Fuck, Johnston!" Jersey cupped her hands to her mouth, barking at the top of her lungs.

If those little shits had run off to join the fight… hell, she didn't know if she'd be able to stop them. She didn't even know if she'd be able to stop herself from joining them, odds be damned. It was Arizona's resting place those bitches were stirring up, it was _Mo's_ resting place.

"Hoel! Heerman!" Jersey snatched her shades off and ground the heel of her hand into her eye. She was mad, she was frustrated, and she couldn't see past her _goddamn nose_ because she was fucking crying like a schoolgirl! "Where the _fuck_ are you?"

"Sorry," said a small voice.

"It was Hoel's idea."

"Yeah, we, um… yeah."

Jersey wheeled on her heel to see her three destroyers standing on the grass in impeccable dress blues. Well, mostly. Johnston's neckerchief was a little crooked, and Jersey could tell she'd tied it in a hurry. But the brave little ships had tried their hardest. They were even still wearing sleeves.

"K-kiddos?" Jersey gave them a long look.

"It's never easy to loose a sister," said Hoel.

"Even for destroyers," Johnston tugged at the cuff of her crackerjacks. "And… we're meant to."

"We wanted you to know," said Heermann, "that we won't cause trouble."

"At all," added Hoel.

"Until you're feeling… yourself," finished Johnston.

Jersey dropped to her knee and gave the destroyers a hug. "Then you're gonna go back to being little shits?"

"Well…" Johnston couldn't help but smirk. "Yeah."

Jersey hugged them again. "I love you little shits."

"And we love you too, Jersey," said Hoel.

—|—|—  
Large cruiser Alaska stared in utter disbelief at the vast gray monsters languishing on the tarmac like beached whales. She knew technology had advanced since her pitifully short time in the service, but still. The two planes—C-5M Super Galaxies Cameron had told her—were simply too huge. Alaska knew— _knew_ —something that enormous couldn't fly, and that if by some miracle of science it _did_ manage to haul it's immense bulk into the air, well…

Well… Alaska knew that despite her slim and distinctly flat-chested figure she was a very big, heavy, and… basically _fat_ ship. She was almost exactly three times the weight of a proper treaty-legal cruiser.

Which, under normal circumstances wouldn't have bothered her in the slightest. She was built long after the treaty with its arbitrary weight restrictions had been abandoned, and while she might be heavy she squeezed every ounce of performance out of her thirty-thousand tons.

But these were not normal circumstances. No, she was about to board a plane for the first time in her life. She might not be a carrier, but she carried floatplanes. She knew exactly how sensitive airplanes were to weight. Too much and it'd never take off. The right amount in the wrong place, and it'd flip on its back and kill everyone in a giant fireball. Her weight would send the plane crashing back to the ground at the worst possible moment, she just _knew_ it.

"C-Cameron," Alaska clutched her boyfriend, shuddering as much from fear as from the gnawing hunger clawing at her empty stomach. She hadn't eaten breakfast that morning. She hadn't eaten _anything_ for the past two days. She knew that if by some miracle the bit Air Force jet managed to stagger in to the air, she'd get sick almost the moment its wheels left the ground.

Hopefully, if she didn't have anything in her stomach, she wouldn't have anything to throw up. She didn't know if the plan was going to work. She didn't know much beyond how _hungry_ she was. She'd never gone this long between meals, except when she was on patrol. And that was… that was _different._

"I'm scared," murdered the large cruiser, using her boyfriend as a crutch. She was so hungry she could barely stand. Which was probably for the best, because if she had enough food in her bunkers to move she'd have bolted as far away from the big scary jets as she could manage.

"I know," Cameron rubbed her back, his hand coming to rest just below her breast. "Don't worry. It's not so bad once you've done it."

"You're not a ship," Alaska gave her boyfriend a long look. She was terrified, and she felt terrible because of it. Her fellow warships in San Diego were preparing to steam into battle, and here she was scared to get on a plane to join them.

"Yeah," Cameron smiled at her and gave her a gentle side hug. "But I _am_ your boyfriend. I'll be right with you the whole way."

"Thanks," Alaska felt a tiny little smile twitch onto her lips. Yes, she was still terrified of flying, but… well, she'd have Cameron by her side. And as long as she had him, she knew things weren't so bad.

—|—|—

Nicholas Ryan had worked on the _Iowa_ for years, but he'd never actually _seen_ one of the mighty warships. True, he'd seen practically every inch of _Iowa's_ slumbering hull, but it just wasn't the same. She was a parts-hulk stripped of everything even remotely valuable in the desperate attempt to keep her sisters in fighting shape, and before that she'd been just a museum.

A lively museum, one visited by scores of tourists and attended by many of her former crewmen. But still a museum. A sleeping, inert hulk incapable of moving under her own steam, tied to the shore for things as basic as lighting. Ryan'd seen _Iowa's_ hull, but not once had he seen her _soul._

He knew she had one of course, the old veterans he worked beside had told him in no uncertain terms that _Iowa_ was more than just cut steel and old teak. But still, he'd never seen an _Iowa_ with his own eyes.

Not until _New Jersey_ unfolded herself from a tired Marine truck before his very eyes. She was everything he'd expected, only so much more vivid. Not only was she massive—she towered over even the Marines escorting her—her pretense was so much larger than life. She commanded complete, undivided attention just by existing, and Ryan felt his posture stiffen reflexively.

"Welcome to the USS _Iowa_ , ma'am," he said.

Jersey gave him a brief, half-distracted nod. The was staring at her sister's hull. Ryan didn't blame her, the Big Stick had been cut to shit. Everything even remotely valuable had been torn out without the slightest care for preserving the integrity of the old battleship. Wartime expediency had won out over historical integrity. "We— the navy…" Ryan's words died in his mouth.

Jersey was looking at the desecrated body of her last sister. What could he possibly say that'd give her the slightest bit of comfort? "We've cleared the deck for you, ma'am."

The battleship gave him another nod and a murmured sound that sounded vaguely between thanks and acknowledgement.

"You'll have her all to yourself, ma'am," Ryan ushered her towards the fore gangway. If she said anything in return, it was lost in the groan of buckling metal as she slowly made her way over. Ryan swore he saw the gangway bow in half, but right when he was certain it was going to snap in two the bending stopped. Steel groaned with Jersey's weight, but it didn't quite break.

"Ma'am, I can—" Ryan put one foot on the gangway before a strong hand clamped on his shoulder. One of the Marines who'd driven her over.

"Son," he shook his head. "Leave her be."

"But—" Ryan looked at the battleship. She was on _Iowa's_ deck now, heading forward at a pace that, given her immense stride, was almost tortuously slow. He didn't know what to say, but he knew she was hurting. He knew he had to help, somehow.

"Don't," said the Marine. "Just leave her be."

"O-okay," Ryan said. There was something in the big man's tone. It wasn't just a platitude, but a solemn statement learned through harsh experience.

The two watched Jersey in silence. She made her way forwards until she reached turret one. Then she just… collapsed. Her knees gave out and she fell to the deck, sitting on her hunches and… crying. Even this far away, Ryan could tell she was crying. Bawling her eyes out before her sister's gutted turret, drenching the deck with her tears.

She sat there for almost an hour, just crying and then laughing. It was a melancholy laugh. A laugh punctuated by sniffles and coughs as Jersey cried. But it was something. Slowly, Jersey bent at the waist, letting her forehead rest against _Iowa's_ turret face. She said… something, then straightened up and pulled her vest smooth.

She settled her shades on her nose, and made her way back to the gangplank slowly, but less stiffly than before. Ryan couldn't have said a word even if he wanted to, and he was sure the Marines felt the same way.

Finally, Jersey stepped off the gangplank and back onto dry land. Her shades hid her eyes, but her cheeks were stained with fat tear streaks. "Thank you," she said, her voice quiet, but determined.

"Of-of course," stammered Ryan.

"You, uh," Jersey sniffed and wiped her hand across her cheek. "You did right by her, I think."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"It was good to see her again," said the big Iowa.

"You're welcome back any time."

—|—|—  
The jet hadn't even raised its wheels when Alaska felt the first tremor in her empty stomach. Her muscles seethed and somehow rancid bile rose in her throat. Her eyes watered and she doubled over, desperately heaving into a bucket clamped between her legs.

She heaved and heaved, the angry contractions of her muscles growing more and more desperate with each attempt until all she could see were burning stars. She clenched at the bucket with her legs, squeezing until the plastic creaked white, trying to drown out the pain. She clawed at its side, her fingernails scraping twisted ribbons from the sturdy surface. Still, nothing came up.

Her throat was bone dry, her stomach was empty, but her body refused to be stilled. She could feel Cameron's hands on her back, rubbing her convulsing body and keeping her hair out of the way.

She didn't know how long she'd been doubled over the bucket, trying desperately to vomit up something—anything. Hours, probably. It felt like weeks. Her back arched, muscles tensing as her body tried furiously to find _something_ to throw up. She swore she felt her stomach—not its contents, but the actual organ—rise in her throat. But again, nothing came up.

"W-water," she managed to whisper between heaves.

"'Laska, you're just going to throw it up," Cameron's voice was barely audible. Like he was speaking to her from the other side of a crowded, noisy room. Still, those tiny, distant sounds were sweeter than the richest cake Texas could make.

The large cruiser nodded furiously, hacking cotton-mouthed into her empty bucket. A few moments later, she felt something cool pressed against her lips. A canteen, or maybe a water bottle. She didn't care. She just tossed her head back, jealously guzzling every drop she could manage before the convulsions were on her again.

She tore the bottle away, water dribbling from her mouth and dripping onto the front of her parka. It'd barely settled in her stomach when it came roaring back up again. Watery bile filled her mouth and surged past her lips. It felt horrible, but at least her stomach finally had something to give. After so long trying to throw up nothing, it was the sweetest relief she'd ever felt.

Her stomach even eased its somersaults for a moment. She was still brutally nauseous, but at least for the moment she didn't have the same overwhelming need to puke. Her head lolled against Cameron's thigh and she felt his strong hands gently run through her hair. "S-sorry," she said with all the strength she could muster, which wasn't much.

"'Laska, I—, no. There's nothing to apologize for." Cameron's voice was music in her ears, quiet and distant as it was.

Alaska shook her head. "S-should've have…" she stopped, frantically pulling away to reach for her bucket. She heaved once, twice, then nothing. Her stomach eased its contortions to settle back to a distant, lurking malevolence. "You didn't have to."

"No," said Cameron. She could feel him rubbing her back now. "But I wanted to."

Alaska heaved again. This time a few dribbles came out. A long string of sticky drool trailed from her lips, and she was too exhausted to try wiping it away. Cameron ran a warm cloth over her face.

"'Laska, you're my girlfriend," said Cameron. "That means I love you, and I support you. Besides, consider it practice."

"W-wha?"

"For when you get morning sick," Cameron tousled Alaska's hair. "'laska, I love you. I want to marry you, you know that. And someday, I want to start a family with you."

Large cruiser Alaska was more utterly miserable than she'd ever been in her life. So why was she smiling?

* * *

Uploader's Note: Thank you, Dianherdianto and RedKol, for catching the formatting error. I wondered why I had reviews 5 minutes after posting, and it turns out I published an Eldritch (Abyssal) document. I apologize for that, but I imagine this is another thing to laugh about later on.


	24. Chapter 23: Fleet means Family

"You don't have to be here, you know," Arizona stated somewhat nervously. A fair portion of it stemmed from what was soon to begin. But the rest laid solely on the presence of the tired looking man standing next to her. "In fact I think it would be better if you were tucked soundly away in bed."

"I'd agree with you, but here I am." Admiral Richardson's voice sounded just as tired as he looked to her. But there was no denying the small smile on his face.

"Then please explain to me why." She demanded grumpily as she followed the overly energetic path of Akashi. The pink haired repair ship was far too enthusiastic about this. The woman hadn't stopped rattling off commands to the equally hyper fairy crews running around the dockyard from the moment she and John had made visual contact. Even the destroyers calmed down to breathe every once in a while.

"Because I've made it a point to be there at the start of every one of you ladies' refits." Richardson yawned widely, at least having the decency to cover his mouth as he did so. "I haven't missed one so far. I don't plan on starting now."

Arizona groaned.

This man was stubborn as a mule.

"I try to be there when you come around, but that's harder to time."

"John, you are aware of how... unhealthy that sounds. Yes?" Unhealthy was one way of putting it. She was inclined to say it was creepy, but he almost always had his reasons. So far, at least.

He tried to look away, scratching at the stubble forming on his chin.

She turned to face him with crossed arms, her thick robe whirling in suit as she moved.

"While I appreciate the sentiment. I do not want you putting your health in jeopardy simply to escort me to the docks." She was perfectly capable of coming down here herself. In fact, that had been the plan so far as she had understood it. She might have needed a bit of an escort home considering how intensive this might end up being. But still.

Yet waiting patiently at the door had been John.

Akashi continued her bustle as Arizona's grey gaze attempted to coax an explanation out of her Admiral.

After a few moments, Richardson sighed and faced her.

"It's... a bit of a paranoia I have with hospitals. A dockyard is the closest thing shipgirls have in my opinion so that paranoia decided to carry over."

A paranoia?

He seemed to grow uneasy as she kept her gaze on him, so she decided to relent. This was not really the time or place for such things in the first place.

"Very well."

"No, it's just-"

"Whether you want to tell me or not, that is your decision. But perhaps another time." Arizona nodded and relaxed her arms, letting them fall into her garment's warm, fuzzy pockets. "I suppose I was looking for a bit of a distraction."

She noted the complex expression on John's face before it fell back into his usual irritable-but-not-actually-irritated expression. A faint smile graced her lips as she realized she had been able to pick up on such a thing. They hadn't really known each other for long either. ...Or had they?

Their lives were chaotic to a degree that time seemed distorted. Some events felt years and ages ago, while others felt fresh as the day before.

"Looking forward to it? Even a little?" Richardson queried.

"Hmm..." She brought a hand up to cup her chin in thought. The answer surprised her a little. Both in how quickly it had come and what it was. "I am."

He tilted his head as if asking her to continue.

Arizona looked up at the ceiling of the dock and put her hand back in its pocket.

"It's the hull I'm most famous for. The one I died in. There's so much pain and hate tied to it. But I was still stronger. More powerful than ever. If history had turned out just a little differently, I would have shown the world exactly what I was made of." She nodded resolutely. It felt good to say that. To put words to feelings she probably wouldn't have even considered so long ago. "Now I have that chance. And I won't squander it."

"You've really come a long way, haven't you." Richardson put a hand on her shoulder and she glanced in his direction. "Hell, I remember when you came back from that port engagement with Hiei. I've seen plenty of angry people. But few like you. Now?"

"Now?"

"When was the last time you woke up screaming? Or stalked the range looking like you were going to hate the targets out of existence?"

Arizona paused.

How long had it been?

"I... don't remember the last time I felt such anger. Not without due cause. And my dreams." She looked back on the days and weeks. It was far harder than she realized to find such an event. "I had one a few days ago. But they're fewer and further between. Still horrifying and intense, but I don't suffer them nearly as often."

Richardson simply smiled.

So that was it. She really had come a long way. But far from her to imagine she had done it on her own.

Her... family. Yes, her family and her friends had done so much for her. Perhaps she would have sailed a darker course had she not ever met them. Perhaps not. But such if's didn't matter. She was here now. Hopefully, her sister would find something that would grant her even a sliver of the peace she had found.

Still...

"What's that smile for?"

Arizona let her smile turn into a chuckle.

"I was just thinking that I wouldn't have ever imagined this scenario in my wildest dreams. Not just being human, but all of... this."

Richardson joined her mirth and began counting off on his free hand.

"Let's see. You've made some of the closest friendships I've seen in a long time with a bunch of Japanese warships. Adopted not one, but two little girls as your daughters. One of whom happens to be my own daughter and the other as Japanese destroyer." He tilted his head as if in thought. "Fought actual demon Nazis from Hell. Broken certain laws of physics while apprehending scantily clad warships."

Arizona scoffed in mock affront.

"I assure you I did no such thing."

"And I assure you, you did. Shimakaze is willing to testify in court and before the entire scientific community."

"You would take her word over mine?" Arizona raised a single coppery eyebrow.

"And here you are joking about it."

She knew an evasion when she saw one. But John did raise a point. In the past, she would have seen no humor in the situation. She might have even brushed off his taunt as offending. But rolling with the jokes and the lighthearted intention behind his words just felt so much more comfortable now. His words and others. Though Mutsu was likely to always have the upper hand in any confrontation. Yesterday had proven yet again just how skilled she was with words.

"Yes, here I am." The tension from earlier had long since bled away. Another chuckle broke free. "Here I am, standing around in a robe next to my Admiral waiting for a hyperactive repair ship to check me in for an overhaul. Making friendly conversation like we've known each other for years."

Richardson laughed.

"It's amazing what time can do for the soul."

They shared a look and grinned.

Arizona's heart felt lighter than it had in a great long time.

"If you two are done, it's time for the show to begin!" hollered a certain pink haired repair ship.

Richardson gave Arizona a pat on the back.

"We'll be waiting, Ari."

"I'll be back before you or anyone else knows it. But I do have a favor to ask." Arizona moved to stand to full in front of Richardson. Without any flourish, she removed her cover. "Give everyone my best and my love. And let Jane, Albie, and Shima know they can sleep with the plush fleet if they want. I think they'll like that."

"Sure thing." He nodded and smirked. "I think that's more than one favor though."

"Somehow, I believe you'd try to fulfill any number of favors." He was just that sort of man. Mutsu had chosen well. "And one more."

"Only one?"

"Just one."

She'd blame Mutsu and Hiei for this.

"Hold my hat."

Arizona placed her cover on his head, pulling it down so he couldn't see, and placed a quick kiss on his cheek before he could respond.

Without waiting another moment, she turned about and marched towards the flabbergasted Akashi.

"Let's get started, Miss Akashi. The enemy won't wait around for us."

At 'em Arizona!

* * *

 **Uploader's Note:** Hello once again! I am sorry if it seems the updates are slower now. You see, I am now running low on content. For whatever reason, nothing has been published on SV forums in a while, so the content Diet has to happen. Now, there are choices that you readers need to make. Do you want just canon content to be on here, or would an Omake keep you satisfied? In the time since ObsessedNuker stopped uploading and now, there is plenty of side content (so long as I acquire permission from the rightful owners).

As for my own content, such as Confused Aircraft Carriers. The next chapter is in the works, but it is far from ready. The scale that I planned it on is...rather difficult, so I have it on the backburner. You know what they say about stories and meat; slow cooking makes it taste better. Or, something like that. You can probably expect updates across my stories by my birthday (this month!), but that depends on what Private Murphy says.

Review!

Caboose Out


	25. Chapter 24: Arrival

"Oh my god." Former aircraft carrier sat at the edge of her bench seat, cradling her head in both hands and praying the world would stop spinning. The plane she was riding in had landed almost twenty minutes ago, and in her naivety she'd thought the world would stop moving shortly thereafter.

"You okay, ma'am?" said the very kind airman who'd been with her the whole trip.

Sara raised a finger but kept her eyes squeezed resolutely shut. It was strange. She didn't really feel like she needed to throw up—she'd ridden out enough storms to know what that felt like. But she still felt.. queasy. Her bile was rising in her throat, but it never quite managed to make it past her tonsils. She hadn't imagined that not throwing up would be so much more miserable than heaving over a rail, but that uncertainty was driving her mad.

She hadn't understood why Alaska was so hesitant to get her Jet. Sara was a carrier, and while she'd never flown herself, the stories her pilots had told… She was actually looking forwards to flying when she boarded the plane.

Not anymore. Now she was just happy it was over. "I'm…" Sara felt sick rise in her mouth. The bravest waves actually crested against the back of her teeth before retreating back down her gullet. "I'm okay."

The big battle cruiser straightened in her seat, and then very slowly and cautiously eased herself to her feet. Her rudder heels clicked against the jet's cargo floor, and Sara had to grab onto a bulkhead for support as her sense of balance momentarily departed her. She wasn't built to sit in one place for so long, and the dry, low-pressure air from the jet was playing merry hell with her sense of balance. "Woo, okay…"

"You're doing just fine, ma'am," the airman smiled at her and offered a canteen. "Here you go, we've found this helps."

"Thank you," Sara didn't bother asking what was in it, she just fumbled the cap off as quick as she could and downed a greedy mouthful. It was saltwater, warm and sweet against her acid-scoured mouth. It was the sea. It was where she belonged. Sara smiled and took another gulp, then dumped the rest out on her head. She let it run down her hair and over her face and sighed with relief. It was just like being back at sea.

"No problem, ma'am."

When Sara opened her eyes again, there were a dozen men waiting for her at the base of the giant plane's ramp. Sailors mostly, plus a couple burly Marines pushing a heavily over-built gurney. "M-ma'am?" Said one of the sailors—a doctor, Sara realized.

"I'm just a little lightheaded," said Sara with a self-conscious wave. She knew she wasn't a hundred percent, but all this effort for the mild, fleeting discomfort she felt seemed like overkill. "Not to worry."

"If…" the doctor looked her over. "If you say so, ma'am."

"You needn't bother yourself on my account," said Sara with a kindly smile. A smile that vanished when her eyes adjusted to the brilliant California sun. A few hundred feet down the tarmac, Alaska was hobbling off her jet. And that girl… that girl looked like death warmed over.

Her skin was pale. Not its usual brilliant, pristine white, but sallow and morbid. Her eyes were lidded and bloodshot, her parka was stained with vomit and her shirt was glued to her skin by a thick layer of clammy sweat.

"Oh my god, 'Laska!" Sara pushed past the medical team and broke out into a sprint. There was another rushing to meet the exhausted large cruiser, but… but Sara loved the girl, and Cameron was clearly struggling to support her weight.

'Laska's chapped lips parted for a moment, but before she could make a sound a wave of watery bile came up and splashed onto the concrete. The cruiser didn't even bother trying to clean herself up—Sara doubted she had the strength to raise her hand to her mouth. Cameron tried to help, but the moment his hand left her side the poor girl's knee collapsed and he had to scramble to catch her.

One of the doctors—a short woman with frizzy hair that was only barely within regulation—sprinted ahead of the rest of her team with canteen in hand, and a Marine with arms the size of Sara's thighs cradled Alaska like a wounded bird.

The doctor brought the canteen to Alaska's lips, gently offering her sips small enough for her to swallow while the rest of her team helped the poor girl onto a gurney.

"I…" Cameron glanced at Sara. With the medical team swarming his girlfriend, there was little he could do beyond hold her hand as tight as he could mange. "I didn't think it'd be this bad."

Sara didn't know what to say. She thought her trip had been miserable, but at least she could walk at the end of it. She settled for just putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry kid," the doctor looked away from her work just long enough to give Cameron a kindly smile. "She'll be just fine, I promise."

"Heh," Alaska smiled. It was an exhausted smile, one that only barely changed the drained expression on her depleted features, but a smile nevertheless. "Thanks, doc."

Cameron ruffled her snowy hair.

—|—|—

Shinano was not a very good carrier. She was too slow to be useful, her air wing was pathetically tiny—especially for how absurdly huge she was—and… and she just wasn't very well designed. Her elevators were in the wrong places, her bulkheads were all wrong, and even if she could somehow carry more planes she didn't have the facilities to manage them.

In short, she was an overgrown auxiliary. A support ship with a deck glued on her back almost as an afterthought. But… that did mean she was a support ship. She might not make a very good carrier, but at least she could help the proper carriers when they were around. It wasn't a very auspicious role, not compared to the real carriers like Akagi or Taihou. But it was something. Something Shinano could do. Something Shinano was good at.

The littlest Yamato clutched a bottle to her ironclad bosom. A frosty bottle of ramune hand-picked from her stores. She knew it wasn't much, especially compared to the dizzying array of sweet and tasty things the Americans enjoyed every day. But it was the very best she had to offer, and that had to count for something, right?

Shinano clutched her little offering tighter. Saratoga might not have come back as a carrier, but… she was a carrier. A hero of the pacific. A conversion that was actually worth her weight!

She glanced from one side to the other. On one beam stood Musashi with hands on her hips and might rifles proudly displayed for all the world to gaze at in awe. On the other sat the american super-battleship New Jersey with her face half buried in a mountain of burgers.

"J-Jersey?" Shinano's voice was barely above a whisper. She knew Musashi was her sister, and she did love the battleship. But… but it was just so hard to talk to her. Her, the mighty Yamato-class battleship. Musashi was so confident, so utterly decisive in all she did… talking with her was as awe-inspiring as it was intimidating.

"Shina," Jersey reluctantly pulled her face out of a quad-stacked hamburger. "Shut the fuck up."

"Bu-"

"I know what you're gonna say," Jersey scowled, wiping her mouth with the back of her gloved hand. "You're scared that Sara won't like it?"

Shinano nodded sheepishly.

"Sister," Musashi raised her hand and—after a moment's contemplation—put it on Shinano's massively muscled shoulder. "You are a Yamato. You can face anything with the utmost confidence."

Jersey stared longingly at her burger before putting it down in frustration. "Shina, you—"the battleship paused to sneak a quick bite. "'s gunnab beh fahn."

"Jersey," Shinano blushed. "I… I don't…"

"Sarash—" Jersey swallowed. "Sara's a good girl. You give her something she'll like it."

"I…" Shinano sighed, then nodded. She really didn't feel confident. But… like her sister said. She was a Yamato. She stiffened her posture, squared her shoulders, and threw back her chin. She wanted to hid behind Musashi of course, but… nobody else needed to know that. "Okay."

"Imma finish this," said Jersey moments before shoving the entire remnant of the burger into her mouth. It took a bit of effort and much squishing to actually get the burger to fit, but by the time it became obvious Jersey was trying to bite off more than she could chew she was to invested to back out.

Musashi rolled her eyes with a scoff. Jersey's response was chimpmunk-cheeked "fhuh yuh."

Shinano giggled. But before her two favorite battleships could get into any more of a snit fight, the mess hall doors swung open and in stepped former-carrier Saratoga.

She was pretty. Tall, like Jersey, but… sleeker. Thin, lithe, and elegant, like a dancer not a prize fighter. She was so pretty, and she carried herself with such effortless grace. Maybe this wasn't the best—

"Phushu," Jersey grunted and kicked Shinano in the calf. The support carrier whimpered in surprise, but her feet might as well have been welded to the deck.

"Go," said Musashi.

Shinano nodded, and with her offering clenched in her hands made her way over to the serving line. "M-miss S-Sara?" she mumbled, her voice so quiet she could barely hear herself.

"Mmm?" The American had already loaded up her tray with hearty stew and an ice-cold bottle of coke.

"I…" Shinano bowed from the waist and held out her offering. "F-for y-you."

Sara took the bottle and… said… something. Shinano was so wound up she couldn't remember what it was. She wanted to bolt and hide behind her sister's skirt. But she didn't. Because she was a Yamato. "I… I hope you like it."

"What is it?" asked the American ship with a kind smile.

"Oh. Um…" Shinano took a breath to calm her nerves. "It's ramune. Lemon-lime, um… I… I thought you'd like it."

"I'll give it a try," said Sara. "Thank you… Shinano?"

The support carrier beamed. Sara knew her name! A proper carrier knew her name! "Y-yes," Shinano bowed her head. "I— I am Shinano."

"It's very nice to meet you," said Sara with a smile so gentle and sweet it almost put the littlest Yamato at ease. Almost. She set her tray down and offered her hand to Shinano. It was so dainty, so elegant compared to the Japanese warship's massive gauntlet-clad paw.

"Y-you too," stammered Shinano.

Sara popped the top of Shinano's offering and took a sip. Or at least tried to. When she tilted the bottle back the glass marble inside got caught on the bottle's neck and stopped the flow. Sara pulled the bottle from her disappointing lips and gave it a quizzical look.

Before Shinano could explain the art of drinking ramune, a loud snorting laugh sounded from somewhere behind her. She looked over to see her sister clutching her sides and shaking with mirth while Jersey was somehow managing to laugh and inhale burgers at the same time.

Sara rolled her eyes with a blush. "New Jersey, must you be so immature?"

"It's Commander," Jersey said. "And yes. You met Mushi?"

"I can't say I have, no," Sara turned to the towering chocolate battlewagon.

"Sara, Mushi. Mushi, Sara." Jersey tore the wrapper off yet another burger. "Get that sparkilicious ass over here and let's eat."

"S-sparkilicious?" asked Shinano.

"I'm turbo-electric," explained Sara.

"Oh."

Sara balanced her tray on one hand and took another stab at drinking ramune. This time she managed to at least get a few drops into her mouth. "Mmm, thank you, Shinano."

Shinano beamed.

—|—|—

Now that her screws were back on solid ground and the medical staff had done their work, large cruiser Alaska's tummy was no longer a hotbed of violent anarchy the likes of which could only be be understood by watching bad seventies post-apocalypse films past midnight after consuming several cases of mountain dew.

Of course, that didn't mean things were copacetic either. 'Laska's tummy might not be in the throws of anarchic revolution anymore, but that was only because it'd rallied its forces with the single-minded purpose of demanding her higher faculties provide a meal posthaste.

Alaska wasn't used to being this hungry, and she found it a little embarrassing whenever her tummy let loose a roaring gurgle that shook the walls in their foundations. Cameron seemed to find it cute though.

In any case, while the large cruiser was desperately hungry, what she needed even more desperately was a good shower. Her parka stank of vomit, and her skin was oozing with sweat. Now that she could think about something beyond how badly she wanted to throw up, she realizes how gross she felt.

Luckily, the navy anticipated her needs, and there was a hot shower waiting for her when she arrived on base. Alaska had hoped that Cameron would join her—she knew for a fact he'd packed a swimsuit—but instead he waited outside for her to finish.

One of these days, he was going to see her naked.

Alaska cleaned herself off with a quick, hot shower. A warm bath would've been nice—especially if she could somehow convince Cameron to cuddle with her in it—but she was just too hungry for that now. After a quick rinse to get rid of the last of her sweat, Alaska shut off the water and toweled off. Her hair dried to its usual barely-controlled waterfall of floof by the time she'd made it back to her bedroom, and her body wasn't far behind.

Her parka and uniform were being cleaned, but she'd packed spares and Cameron had been nice enough to lay out a change of clothes for her. A nice airy sundress and a pair of shorts to go under. She was starting to think he didn't understand the concept of short-skirts, but if that's what he wanted her to wear…

It didn't take her long to get dressed—unlike literally everyone else on the base, Alaska didn't have to bother with squeezing into a bra—and before her stomach could even finish reading its list of demands she was padding barefoot towards the mess hall.

"Hey, 'laska." Cameron smiled by her side, trotting to keep up with her restless pace. "You feeling any better?"

"Cameron," Alaska looked over but didn't stop moving. "I love you, but I'm really hungry right now."

"Right," Cameron chuckled. "Sorry, lead the way."

Alaska angled towards the serving line. It was a little late and the staff were already setting out dinner. Which was fine by Alaska, because it appeared to be lasagna day and Alaska loved lasagna.

The large cruiser was polishing off her ninth plate when she started being aware of her surroundings again. Cameron was next to her, just watching her eat with a faraway smile on his face, and there were a few ships a table down tucking into their own meals. Cruiser, Alaska was pretty sure. Two of them she recognized. The third was… of dubious compliance with the London Naval Treaty.

"Hello!" Alaska waved.

"Guten tag," said the taller cruiser with the American flag bandanna tied around her arm.

"Hey," said the really pretty Japanese-looking one with a tummy full of scars.

"Oi!" said the flame-haired one with the nice tan.

"Um," Alaska looked at her tray, then back to them. "Can I join you?"

The three ships discussed among themselves for a heartbeat, then the pretty Nesai heavy cruiser nodded. "Of course!"

Alaska collected her meal—and her boyfriend—and trotted over to her new friends. She knew one was a New Orleans, one was a St. Louis, and… the third was some class she didn't recognize. But she couldn't for the life of her figure out which. "I'm Alaska."

"Frisco," said the New Orleans.

"Lou," said the light cruiser.

"Prinz Eugen," said the non-treaty-compliant cruiser with an accent that dripped Germanic precision. "Um… of the US Navy. IX three-hundred."

"Nice to meet you," Alaska set her tray down. "Oh, this is Cameron."

Cameron waved.

"He's my boyfriend." Said the large cruiser. After a moment's pause, she put her hand around his waist and pulled him close. "Mine."


	26. Fairynapping I

Uploader's Note: I have lots of good news! Firstly, some of you may be aware that theJumper is now banned on Sufficient Velocity (the place that this comes from). He told me this will remain in effect more...6 months or so. Fortunately, he is still writing! The next good news is that I have started getting permission for Omakes, and this will be the first. (On a side note, Arizona's story, A certain Iron Lady, started as an omake, if anyone remembers that when the fic was young?). As for my own stories, I am, erm, still working. Writer's block is hitting me hard, and I've been helping out as a beta reader for other people. One is "Midway" by TheKitsuneLord12, an ARP story. The other was "Kancolle: Broken, not beaten," by Twitchy1414. Feel free to check them out.

This omake is by farmerbob1, and I do NOT own it. This is with their permission.

Now, without further ado,

 **The Fairy-napping, Part I (aka, wrath of the murderballs)**

* * *

It was that time again. Not that she really minded her annual full physical, but Yeoman Gale knew that time spent in medical would have to come from somewhere. That somewhere was typically from her sleep time, or from her exercise time, since she would give up both of those before giving up the little bit of personal time she managed to eke out for herself just to stay sane. Even her personal time typically evaporated in the face of shipgirl shenanigans.

She approached the medical clinic, thirty minutes before her appointment, carrying her briefcase. It was an early morning appointment, and she knew from experience that her appointment would almost certainly get pushed back by overnight non-critical accidents and early morning PT injuries.

At least I should have a few uninterrupted minutes to get a bit of paperwork done, she thought to herself, as her right hand pulled the glass door open.

A high pitched wheedling female child's voice greeted the yeoman as she entered the building. "Are you really, really sure? I know they like to come here to read and help." There was no mistaking that voice. It was Kidd.

Gale froze, looking both ways to see if there was somewhere to hide. Where there was one murderball, there would be-

"GALE!" Two high pitched squeals of greeting made every human in the room wince.

Too late.

Two cuddle-seeking missiles struck, seemingly out of nowhere. One appearing from behind a water fountain. The other from the other side of a very large man in Marine PT gear, with greying temples and no rank insignia, who was holding a large ice pack on one of his knees.

Bannie and Dee struck simultaneously, and Gale knew she'd be sporting bruises from where two faces had just collided with her abs. She had barely managed to keep herself from falling over.

This was strange. As careless and reckless as destroyer shipgirls seemed to be, they were typically very careful to avoid harming humans, though just about everything else, sometimes including each other, were fair game for maulings, both intentional and accidental.

None of this actually went through Gale's mind as coherent thoughts. She'd been working with the smaller shipgirls too long to rely on coherent thoughts for sudden murderball encounters.

She looked at the seated marine imploringly and lifted her left hand, in his direction, shaking the briefcase. "Can I get a hand, marine?"

The man reached out a huge paw-like hand with a gigantic grin on his face, accepting the briefcase and setting it on the seat next to him, wordless. His eyes flickered across Gale and the two tiny shipgirls glued to her abs, and the grin grew wider.

Gale sighed. No doubt this day was going to add yet another story about her and the girls to the base scuttlebutt. Schadenfreude at her expense seemed to be a pastime with growing popularity on base, though it was good-natured.

One day, I'm going to write a book about this, and I'll probably have to fight to have it classified as non-fiction.

"I'm sure. I haven't seen any medical fairies in at least a couple days." One of the doctors was on one knee in front of Kidd, patting her on the head, while speaking. That was odd. Most of the NCOs on base had enough shipgirl exposure and experience to be able to deflect the girls from pestering officers unless there was a real, official need for said girls to speak to officers. Whatever Kidd had come here about, the medical staff had deemed it important enough to get a doctor to speak to her. That was odd enough to raise an eyebrow.

"Oh." Kidd seemed to deflate, her shoulders slumped and she just stood there, silent for a second.

Bannie and Dee were still gripping her upper thighs and hips uncomfortably hard, faces planted in her abs like those suction cups you could use to climb glass buildings.

I'm going to regret asking this, Yeoman Gale thought as she carefully prepared the tone of her voice to be gentle, yet no-nonsense. "Kidd. Bannie. Dee. What's wrong?"

Kidd turned to face the source of the question, appearing to notice the Yeoman's presence for the first time. "Gale!" Kidd was crying as she sprinted across the room towards a source of comfort, her arms spread wide, looking for all the world like a real six-year-old with a skinned knee.

Somehow, Kidd managed to burrow her body and face between the bodies of her sisters, without breaking any human bones. She gripped Gale around her hips, hands planted squarely on the centers of each of Gale's butt cheeks, face buried directly in the middle of her abs.

Reaching down with two hands, giving head-pats to all three destroyer girls, alternately, Gale repeated her question, gently, almost in a whisper. The girls were certainly worked up about something involving their fairies. "What's wrong?"

Kidd, Dee, and Bannie all lifted their red, tearing eyes to her, framed with haunted, scared little-girl expressions. "Gale, our pecker-checkers, they've been fairy-napped!"


	27. Fairynapping II

Part II

Gale glared at the big Marine whose name she didn't know. It was clear that he was close to busting a gasket trying to keep from laughing at what appeared to be three ten-year-old girls complaining about missing pecker-checkers.

The Marine, fortunately, didn't laugh, which might have saved Gale from having to save him from being thrown off a pier, or into a swimming pool.

Kidd had this thing about making irritating people 'walk the plank' when she got worked up about something someone else did. It had only happened twice, and nobody had been more than a little bruised, but the possibility had been mentioned many times, and she was rather distraught at the moment.

After a few seconds, when it was clear that there wasn't a water-related accident in the Marine's immediate future, Gale continued giving head pats to three destroyer girls with both hands while trying to make sense of the accusation. "Fairy-napping? I didn't know fairies could be abducted. Aren't they part of you?"

Kidd sniffled, and the three destroyers loosened their grips on her hips and legs. Then they looked at each other with the slightly distanced look they got when communicating privately by radio.

After a moment, Kidd rubbed her nose energetically and snuffled again. "Well. Yes. They are part of us. That's why we know they've been fairy-napped! If they weren't fairy-napped, they would have been at morning roll call."

The Marine had calmed down, and was clearly listening to the words and trying to make sense of what was happening. "So, your fairies disappeared sometime between yesterday's and today's roll call?"

Almost like a switch had been flipped, all three shipgirls started staring at their feet, scuffling said feet back and forth on the tile.

The Marine and Gale stared at each other, knowingly. The girls were clearly not wanting to answer, which meant that it was important that they be convinced to say something.

Gale quickly asked the question, before the Marine could say anything. "What don't you want to tell us? It might be important."

Dee scuffled her feet harder, and started dry-washing her hands. "Well. We don't usually-"

Kidd jabbed her in the side with an elbow, interrupting her, and it wasn't gentle. "Shh."

With a glare, Dee turned to Kidd. "No. They're gone. We screwed up. We have to tell the truth to get help. You do want them back, right?"

Kidd's elbow started moving again, but Bannie grabbed the moving arm before the second blow could connect, saying "Dee's right."

That started a short staring contest between Bannie and Kidd, which made the hairs on Gale's neck stand up. After a few seconds, Kidd looked down, which was definitely a good thing.

The look in Dee's eyes made it clear that she probably would have objected strongly to a second elbow, likely to the detriment of a few nearby walls and doors.

Breathing an internal sigh of relief, Gale spoke calmly and authoritatively. "I want to help, girls, but you have to help me help you."

All three girls started looking at their feet again, and Dee began to speak. Slowly at first, then faster. "We. Well. Haven't been doing daily roll calls."

The Marine's eyes narrowed and it looked like he was about to say something.

Gale suddenly pointed a finger at him while shaking her head violently. When she saw she had his attention, Gale raised her finger to her lips in the age-old sign for 'don't say anything that will upset the shipgirls.'

The Marine stared back for a moment, then his eyes clearly moved from her face, to her rank insignia, and back to her face again.

Gale felt herself starting to sweat. She didn't know him, but Marines with greying temples were generally Marines with a lot of rank. He might even be an officer.

At the same time, dealing with sparkly shipgirl bullshit was her job, and any complaints from a Marine to her Navy chain of command while she was dealing with shipgirls would go nowhere as long as she wasn't disrespectful without cause. She knew she had just danced on the edge of that, but she hadn't actually said anything.

Gale met his eyes. "Marine, if you want to ask questions, please do, but I ask that you let the Navy handle the more pointed issues."

After a moment of consideration, the eyes seemed to sparkle slightly, then a slow smile formed, and he cut his eyes back at the shipgirls while nodding slightly.

All three of the shipgirls were staring back and forth between Gale and the Marine, but as soon as attention was back on them, their eyes dropped quickly, and their feet started moving back and forth again.

"Now where did we leave off?" Gale said in what she hoped was a firm voice. "You aren't doing roll calls for your crews?"

"We don't need to. They're part of us. We always know where they are if we think about it." Kidd muttered, with a little bitterness in her voice.

"But-" Gale started.

"Yeah. But." Kidd took a deep breath, then let it out loudly.

"When was the last time you did a roll call?" The Marine asked, in a gentler-than-expected tone.

All three of the girls shared guilty looks.

Gale went down to one knee and looked from one guilty face to the next. "Well? We need to know. So we can narrow down when they disappeared."

"Never. Until this morning." Dee whispered.

Three pairs of shipgirl feet suddenly started shuffling back and forth more quickly.

With a sigh, Gale asked "So none of you have ever done a roll call before today?"

Kidd and Bannie looked at Dee, then at Gale, nodding nervously.

Dee whispered a single word. "Right."

Nothing is ever easy when murderballs are involved. Gale thought to herself before asking "You all have photographic memory of when you were ships. What about since you came back?"

All three girls nodded, and Bannie spoke first. "For what we do, but not everything the fairies do."

"How do you get them back to the ship when you need to deploy?" The Marine asked.

Kidd squinched her face a bit. "We, well, think them back on board."

"I know a few ship captains that would kill for crews like that." Gale muttered.

The Marine smirked. "I know, right?" Then he looked back at the huddled shipgirls. "So, when did you last call your medical fairies back to the ship?"

Three tiny shipgirls stared at their feet again, suddenly, and said feet started to move back and forth, in perfect unison. In a tiny voice, Dee answered again. "Umm. Never."

Gale's hand moved without conscious thought to facepalm herself, but at the last moment she realized what she was doing and turned the facepalm into an eyebrow scratch instead. "I don't understand. You've been in combat, but you never needed your medical fairies?"

"Don't work like that." Bannie muttered. "If fairies get hurt, they heal when we heal."

Things started to make a lot more sense to Gale, but it was important to be sure that this particular sparkly bullshit was understood, so she needed to verify what she thought she knew.

She went down to both knees and put her right hand under one shipgirl chin at a time, raising eyes to hers. "Okay, so, your fairies are part of you. You can usually call them back, but right now you can't call back your medical fairies."

Three tear-streaked faces nodded in unison.

"Your fairies heal or return to life like carrier planes do. If you lose fairies, they are only gone until you heal."

More nodding. Small hands lifted shirts and wiped faces.

"So, you don't actually need your medical fairies?"

All three girls went eyes-wide in obvious sudden astonishment, then they got that radio-talk look again.

Bannie spoke after a moment, right after Dee nudged her with an elbow, gently. "No. Not really. But they're our fairies!"

The Marine looked a bit confused, but raised a finger. "One moment. I have another question, but I don't know if it even applies. I'm no expert on sparkly…" he paused, and his eyes looked from girl to girl, then at Gale "…stuff."

"Ask it." Gale responded immediately. The Marine was clearly in control of himself, and the girls hadn't taken a dislike to him.

With a careful, slow tone, the Marine asked, "I hope this isn't somehow offensive, but do you have quarters onboard? Where do your fairies stay?"

Kidd answered quickly, without any sort of attitude. "Sure. Crew fairies have quarters. Bunk rooms for the enlisted, cabins for the officers."

The Marine raised an eyebrow. "Sick bay too?"

"Sure." Dee answered immediately, nodding energetically.

"Another question. Have you checked sick bay and your medical officer's quarters? Can you?"

All three shipgirls suddenly went completely still, staring at the Marine, confusion on their faces changing rapidly to comprehension. In unison, all three girls uttered "Oh!" and their faces suddenly grew serious.

Almost in unison, all three girls held out their right hands, and a fairy in Marine full dress uniform appeared in each outstretched hand.

The girls said nothing out loud, but the miniature Marines stood at attention, and there was clearly some sort of communication happening. In less than three seconds, all three Marine fairies saluted crisply, saying "Hey!" loudly enough for Gale to hear, and then disappeared.

"So…" Gale stopped speaking and stood slowly as she tried to decide what to do next.

Before Gale could think what to say next, Kidd suddenly stiffened, and held out her hand again. A Marine fairy appeared, holding a tiny sheet of paper out towards her. Kidd accepted the tiny scrap of paper and started reading, muttering out loud. "Services not required..." She frowned, then continued, muttering. "…sound mind and body, exercising my right…"

Kidd's eyes went wide. "…found a place where my skills are needed, so I am hereby resigning my commission."

Dee and Bannie were staring at Kidd, with shocked expression on their faces.

After a moment, Dee started speaking "Resigning their commissions? Can fairies even do that?"

A Marine fairy suddenly appeared on Dee's left shoulder, holding out a tiny sheet of paper.

Dee grabbed it, and held it next to her nose as she read it. Several seconds later, she muttered "damn."

A white-uniformed Marine appeared on Kidd's right shoulder, announcing his presence with a "Hey!" when Kidd didn't immediately respond to his appearance.

Kidd collected the note she was handed, read it, then stared at Bannie for a second before all three shipgirls went immobile, again clearly communicating privately by radio.

The big Marine with grey wings in his hair looked at Gale with concern, and silently lipped the words. "They didn't know?"

Gale met his eyes, shrugged slightly, and shook her head minutely while watching the girls for whatever would happen next.

Suddenly, with no warning, all three shipgirls took a few steps and simultaneously mobbed Gale, planting their faces in her abs and hugging her hips tightly.

What now? Gale thought, as she started the headpats, moving from girl to girl, spreading the attention.

A few seconds later, the sobbing calmed slightly and Dee muttered in a tiny, sad voice. "Gale. Gale, they suicided, like the japs do when they think they failed. Fairies are part of us. If they left us, they died."

After that pronouncement, all three shipgirls suddenly gripped her tight enough that her hips creaked, and Gale couldn't help but squeak in pain. "Girls. Careful. Please. You're hurting me."

All three girls suddenly stiffened and then let her go, taking a step back and looking down at their feet.

Kidd spoke first. "Sorry! We didn't mean-"

More headpats quickly calmed upset shipgirls. "I know kiddos. No harm done. You're worked up."

"Girls." The nameless Marine started speaking, while looking at Kidd. "Didn't your fairy note say that they found a place where their skills would be useful, and that's why they resigned their commissions?"

"But they can't." Bannie responded instantly.

"Maybe they thought they could." Dee muttered. "They spent so much time here, studying and helping."

"I think we need to talk to the admiral, girls." Gale collected her briefcase from the chair where the Marine had put it.

All three girls looked up at her, fear in their faces.

"But." Kidd started, then her shoulders sagged briefly, before she stood straighter and squared her shoulders. "Okay. What will we be charged with, Gale?"

All three girls had adopted stoic, stiff stances with red-eyed expressions.

Gale stared momentarily. "Charged? Why?"

"We lost part of our crew."

"They left voluntarily." Gale countered.

"They are part of us." Dee spoke, a little heat in her voice. "We did something wrong or they would-"

"Stop that." The full-sized Marine interrupted Dee, leaning over from his seat and poking her in the nose.

Dee's eyes crossed as she stared at the finger under her nose, and was clearly trying to figure out what to think of the interruption.

Before Dee could figure out what she thought of the sudden finger on her nose, the Marine continued. "Maybe they transferred to another ship, or maybe they CAN live outside you. Medical fairies are smart, right? Would all of your medical fairies have tried to leave you all at once, not knowing if they would live or die? Wouldn't one of them have tried first, then the rest only do it if it worked?"

Raising her hand, Dee brushed the Marine's sausage-like finger away from her face, without hurting him.

All three girls stared at him for several seconds, then looked at Gale, clearly wanting her input on what he'd said.

Gale picked up on what she thought was the Marine's train of thought. "You said they came here to learn and help. You let them. They wouldn't have killed themselves, would they? They were helping here. Maybe they figured out a way to help more?"

"But how?" Bannie complained, clearly not entirely convinced.

"Finding that out seems like a good idea, doesn't it?" Gale said, gently. "And for that, we need to talk to the admiral, and authorize an investigation."

All three girls perked up, suddenly, and Dee spoke quietly, eagerly. "You mean, we have to find clues?"

Alarm bells started ringing in Gale's head.

"Clues?" Kidd's voice was intense, and she stared at the Marine.

The Marine nodded, either not seeing or ignoring Gale's subtle head-shake, and said "Sure. You can't solve a mystery without clues."

Gale groaned, but mostly suppressed it. The Marine caught that, and met her eyes, clearly confused.

All three shipgirls instantly went from upset and worried to puppy-like eagerness.

With great mental effort, Gale repressed her facepalm and pasted a fake calm expression on her face as Kidd announced. "Like Scooby Doo?"

Dee pulled a big magnifying glass out of thin air, which caused both Kidd and Bannie to stare at her.

"Where did you get that?" Kidd asked.

"Umm. The investigators left it behind." Dee's face went beet red.

Bannie dragged Dee into a hug, trying to console her embarrassed sister. "Oh. That. I forgot about that."

When Bannie let Dee go, she gently punched the other destroyer's shoulder. "So, do you have more?"

Kidd nodded. "If you don't, Gale can get them for us, right?"

Bannie suddenly squealed "Gale! We need a Mystery Machine!"

The Marine looked slightly stunned, and Gale managed not to stare at him with an angry expression. She hoped.

Dee passed out two more magnifying glasses to the other destroyer girls. "So, who's who?"

Bannie stared at Dee. "You should be Shaggy, right?"

"I guess." Dee mumbled, sounding a little irritated.

"I'm Scooby!" Kidd claimed, then she continued, thoughtfully. "Bannie should be Daphne."

Bannie thought about that for a second, and nodded. "Gale is so smart. She has to be Velma."

All three girls eagerly turned to face the Marine who had used the word 'mystery' and 'investigation' in the same sentence.

You started this, Gale thought to herself as she crossed her arms, knowing exactly what was coming.

The Marine raised both hands and went stiff in his chair, looking at Gale with sudden recognition of what was obviously about to happen. "Oh no, I can't."

"We need a Fred." Bannie said, in an imploring tone, as all three girls turned sad puppy eyes on the hapless Marine.

 **Uploader's Note: I hope you enjoy this omake, it get's to be quite good in my opinion.**

 **In the mean time, enjoy me singing about my birthday in German!**

Zum Geburtstag viel Glück!  
Zum Geburtstag viel Glück!  
Zum Geburtstag liebe Caboooooose,  
Zum Geburtstag viel Glück!

I expect to update another of my stories today, but we will see.

Caboose out


	28. Fairynapping III

Part III

**Several months earlier, August, 2015**

The eternal quiet was disturbed by martial music.

 _I served already. Leave me alone!_

It wasn't the first time her slumber had been interrupted.

It also wasn't the first time she had ignored it.

Behind the music, she could taste/sense what was wanted. Help to wage war.

This was something she had no interest in. War, from her perspective, had no winners.

Despite that, she had served in war, and could not ignore the call completely. The music would rouse her again. And she would refuse, again.

If she knew how to move to a quieter place she would, but movement was foreign to her current state.

Suddenly, there was something new.

A sudden shock of pain as the music stopped. Fear. Even a sense of death.

Pain, fear, and death were not strangers.

Pain, fear, and death were her enemies. Enemies she would answer a call to fight.

But, there was no more calling. Only pain and panic.

 _Of course, now that I am willing, I cannot-_

The thought was left incomplete. The negative emotions that energized her had not abated. They had, in fact, grown worse, but there were now very powerful calls for help spiking through the pain, fear, and death.

Using a part of herself that she couldn't begin to define, she reached out to those sources of pain and fear who were asking for help.

As she started to draw herself out of the stillness, she heard a chorus of tiny minds, somehow a part of her, but at the same time not. The chorus was hundreds of voices, each weak, but together they made themselves heard powerfully.

Bring us. We can help.

These parts of her were both welcome, and not. They did not share all of her values. But they wanted to help, and she knew them to be truthful.

 _ **You will obey me, if you join me.**_

The chorus did not even hesitate before agreeing. Of course.

 _ **Then you are welcome. Join me.**_

There was a brief moment of confusion, almost dizziness, and then she felt stable once more.

Again, she reached out that undefinable part of herself, and anchored herself to the pain, suffering and death, using the powerful requests for help and succor to draw her free of the nothingness.

She emerged into chaos.

Immediately after she opened her eyes, a large wooden beam fell across her right shoulder.

The beam was on fire. It was at least ten feet long, and as thick as a man's thigh.

She barely felt it as the beam snapped from the impact.

The fire, however, was a different matter. Several coals and embers had fallen into her hair and clothing, and started to smolder.

Even as she shoved the burning chunk of wood into the water beside her, crews already prepared for action leapt to duty stations. Pumps were primed. Hoses were pulled from storage. Coals and embers were washed overboard. Within seconds the fires were extinguished.

She looked around her, trying to get her bearings. Attempting to see who needed help, and where she was needed most.

When she looked down, she noticed that she was standing on water. Not in water. The water was shallow, but she was riding on top of the waves.

Being on top of the water wasn't particularly strange, but what she could see of herself was.

I'm a person?

Shaking her head, she tried to dismiss the confusion..

It doesn't matter what I am, only what I do.

Looking around, she saw several long lines of wooden posts driven into the sand and rock. Above her, she saw what appeared to be a burning pier. All along the pier there were holes punched through the thick planks, allowing her to see people fleeing on the upper surface.

There was a weak, wet gasp near her, and a barely audible voice said "Help."

Spinning on her heel, she saw a woman pinned by a large beam in the surf, weakly pawing at the thick piece of wood across her chest. Her head was mostly under water, each wave cresting over her mouth and nose.

Immediately, she moved to the woman and carefully lifted the beam, making sure the woman wasn't punctured by part of it before lifting it completely free and setting it aside.

Several tiny figures in olive drab uniforms leapt off her shoulders onto the water, followed by two tiny figures in white.

As she watched, the tiny folk in white quickly checked the condition of their patient and then started directing the little ones in green to drag the woman to shore.

I do not remember the world being like this.

A scream of pain interrupted her confusion, drawing her attention to a splash in the water where someone else had fallen through a hole in the pier.

Looking down the length of the pier, she could see that quite a few people were falling into the water. From what she could see, some of them were on fire. Quite a few people were also intentionally jumping into the water, some without injury, others clearly doing harm to themselves.

The pier was struck again, by something, and there was an explosion. She heard dozens of fearful shrieks and at least half a dozen bodies fell to the water.

Death was obvious in some cases. Three of the bodies were clearly too damaged to hold life.

Ships crew, stand by stations. Medical staff and support team render assistance in squads. One doctor, one nurse, four support per team. Call for help if you need me. Make it happen.

As soon as she completed the thought, hundreds of tiny figures popped out of nowhere, a river of green and white uniforms jumping off her arms and shoulders, hopping out of her pockets, even leaping off her hair.

They scurried off, somehow running on the water like she was doing.

She looked around for people who were trapped under falling timbers, but for the most part, even when people were trapped, her crew freed them before she could arrive to help. Like her, the little ones seemed much stronger than their size would indicate.

Briefly, she considered trying to climb onto the pier, but even the most stable-seeming supports creaked and wobbled dramatically when she tried to climb them. Concerned that she might bring down the entire pier, she stopped trying to climb, and directed her crew to turn their fire hoses on the pier.

As her ship's crew did what they could to dampen the pier, she could see dozens of injured being moved towards the edge of the surf by her medical and support crew.

Even as the green-uniformed support crews carefully pulled patients through the shallows to the beach, doctors and nurses were standing on patient chests and heads, shoulders and stomachs, working to triage the injured.

While the situation was by no means resolved, immediate concerns were being handled, and it was time to expand her awareness of what was happening nearby. She stopped on the water and looked around carefully.

In the distance, but rapidly growing closer, she could hear sirens. Glancing away from the pier, she could see clear signs of a large city. A city that was almost certainly Newport News, though quite a bit seemed different than what she remembered.

And it wasn't just the pier she was near that was burning. She could see at least a dozen fires along the coast, and she could hear the sharp cracks of naval rifles firing, and the thumping sound of shells exploding.

What have I-

A flash on the water, several hundred feet beyond the pier grabbed her attention, and she felt her stomach knot. Something was moving where the flash had originated.

There was another flash, except this time, the flash didn't flicker, it stayed on, illuminating her.

I've been spotted.

She wasn't the only one to notice the searchlight directed at her. Another searchlight from shore stabbed out and illuminated what appeared to be a young, pale white girl wearing lots of black leather and what appeared to be a big backpack.

The spotlight from the pale girl went out, and, suddenly, the air was full of the malignant whining noises of bullets striking out at the girl on the water.

The spotlight from shore allowed her to see that some of the bullets were hitting the girl, but she ignored them. They weren't even breaking the skin.

What was more frightening was that she could see some sort of dark malignance under the girl's surface appearance.

The hate. The hunger.

The girl's presence was arresting, almost impossible to look away from, but it was very easy to see gun barrels and torpedo tubes being pointed in her direction.

The girl was clearly far faster than her, though she couldn't say for sure how she knew that. She had no weapons to defend herself with, and likely wouldn't even make it to shore if she tried to flee.

Somehow though, she knew that there might be another way.

Reaching mentally for what seemed like some sort of switch, she deactivated a part of herself, fell into the waist-deep water, then dropped underwater and started swimming parallel to the shore, away from the pier.

She could feel and hear ordinance hitting the water nearby, probably around where she had been, but she dared not try to look. She stayed under water, swimming with all her strength.

The sounds of ordinance hitting the water gradually moved away from her, and she could hear pieces of the pier falling into the water. The murderous girl with big guns apparently thought she had gone under the pier, which she had, fortunately, not done.

There was a problem though. Breathing was apparently required, even if she was far stronger than she should have been. She hadn't had a chance to get a deep breath of air, and she was swimming strongly underwater.

Worse, there was nothing nearby to hide behind when she came up to breathe.

And, to add insult to injury, like her medical crew, she was wearing a bright white medical uniform, which would make her spectacularly visible when she stopped swimming next to the bottom and surfaced, even if she did not come out of the water.

At least I helped a few peopl-

Something moving in the water caught her eye. It was moving back and forth, and it was dark.

Immediately, she swam towards it, hoping it was what she thought it was.

After only a few more feet of swimming, she realized it was, indeed, an old tire.

By this time, however, her lungs were near to bursting, and she was getting spots in front of her eyes. She kept swimming and grabbed the tire, only to find that there was still a rim in it, which would explain why it had been resting on the bottom.

Still, it would work, she hoped.

With what felt like frantic speed, she lifted the tire with both hands, flipped it so that the side that would go on the car was facing down, then she put her head into that space, and stood up in the water.

She was very careful not to stand up enough to raise the tire out of the water, and gasped as she sucked in fresh air, with her head hidden by the tire.

Several breaths later, she was nearly ready to submerge again.

That's when the tire was wrenched from her grasp, and she looked up to see the pale girl with guns standing there, pointing weapons at her. Red eyes in an angry pale face void of mercy.

There was no way she could dodge at that range, so she closed her eyes and waited for the end.

A titanic explosion tumbled her through the water, but she didn't feel like she was dying, so she started swimming as strongly as she could in a random direction.

Through the water, she heard several more explosions, and then a much louder explosion.

Fear gave her strength, but that strength only lasted so long. Eventually she had to breathe again. This time, however, she had no tire, but she was in much deeper water.

Carefully, she poked her head up, arching her neck so that only her face left the water.

Several deep breaths later, she submerged again, swimming underwater towards what the corner of her eye told her was a jetty.

Once she reached the jetty, she swam towards shore until she could no longer stay under water, then, amongst the rocks sticking out of the water, she came up to breathe again.

Again, she wasn't fired upon, and there wasn't a killer waiting for her, so she swam closer to shore. Once she was in water that was only about knee deep, she ran out of the water, and into the city.

When she was among the buildings closest to the shore, she stopped and peeked around the corner of one of the buildings as she looked back towards the pier fire, looking for the girl that had tried to kill her.

That girl wasn't there. Another girl, this one a short redhead, was standing on the water crossing back and forth like she was looking for something. The new girl projected duty and honor, but she still carried guns and was clearly ready to use them.

The searching girl never looked her way, and after several passes through the water, her shoulders slumped and she moved back towards shore.

Did she see me in the water? Is she looking for me?

As the girl stepped out of the water, her guns and backpack of equipment disappeared, but it was still possible to see that she wasn't just a girl. Memories of long ago told her that she was seeing a girl who was somehow also a United States destroyer from World War II.

Looking back along the beach, there were dozens of flashing red blue and white lights. A gaggle of full-sized human medical personnel, firemen, and police officers were examining the people her crew had pulled onto the beach.

My crew!

She summoned them all to her, instantly evacuating them from the beach and the pier. The medical crew had all returned, a few with minor injuries. Many of the support crew were injured. Some of them were present, but at the same not present, in a way that seemed like death, but she could tell they would return in time.

The medical crews didn't even attempt to treat the injured. For an instant, this angered her, then she realized that it wasn't necessary. Like the pseudo-dead support crew, the injured would heal rapidly, without care.

Turning her attention outward again, she saw the redheaded girl, who had been approaching the line of patients on the beach, suddenly stop moving. The destroyer girl put both hands on her hips and her head moved back and forth, scanning, clearly looking for something.

It took almost all of her willpower to keep herself from stepping out of hiding and trying to attract the destroyer girl's attention, but she managed to keep herself from doing so. The girl HAD saved her, it seemed, but at the same time, she was clearly a fighter, and this world, despite seeming so familiar, was clearly full of many new things, some of them deadly.

It didn't take a genius to realize the redheaded destroyer girl had probably seen the medical and support crews and had tried to approach them before they had been summoned away. After a few seconds, the girl dropped her hands off her hips, shook her head, and walked back out onto the water and skated off at a high rate of speed with two other destroyer girls.

Doubts assailed her. So, what do I do now? I don't even know who I-

The answer to the second question came before the question was finished.

USS Solace. I'm USS Solace.

She waited for more insights, but after several seconds, it was clear that spontaneous enlightenment probably required a concise question, and since she'd asked two questions and gotten one answer, not every question was getting answered.

I guess I get to do this the hard way.


	29. Chapter 25: Floof

For most people, large cruiser Alaska was a riddle wrapped in an enigma and disguised with an improbably floofy wig of snow-white hair. Her demeanor, while generally pleasant, was so obscured behind layers of subtle nuance and drowned out by her pervasive kind-heartedness as to make her wholly inscrutable. And that's assuming an observer didn't just write her off as generically sweet with no deeper characteristics.

But Cameron Young was not 'most people.' Not only was he aware that there was so much more to his seagoing girlfriend than her surface-level kindness, he'd learned—through long observation and careful study—to decode the occasional tiny hint she _did_ let slip.

And right now, he could tell she was upset. She hadn't gotten up for seconds yet, even though her hand never quite left her stomach and her shoulders were slumped more than usual. She'd called him "my boyfriend" nine times in the last fifteen minutes. And she was sitting so close he could feel the cool skin of her thigh against his.

None of the west coast cruisers seemed to notice. Which was odd, as Cameron understood cruisers tended to be extremely aware of their surroundings. Something to do with their pre-aviation role as fleet scouts. Of course, situationally aware or not, none of _them_ had had the time to do a detailed analysis of 'Laska's minute character tics. Or they were just being polite and not bringing it up.

Either way, it wasn't something Cameron wanted left unsaid. If his girlfriend was upset, he needed to fix that. "Well," he piled his silverware onto his mostly-empty plate and stood. "I think it's time for dessert."

"Me too," said Alaska. She was standing right by his side, tray in hand. Cameron was quite sure she'd never actually stood, and judging by the puzzled look on her face Prinz Eugen was thinking the same thing. Neither Friso nor Lou seemed the least bit bothered though, which… was something Cameron didn't really want to ponder.

Cameron smiled and put his hand around Alaska's slim waist. He could tell Alaska was feeling… off, even if he didn't know why, and he'd learned that a friendly touch worked all kinds of good with her.

"Anyone want anything?" he asked, hoping it would dissuade any of the other cruisers from getting up too. He wanted to be alone with Alaska for a moment.

"I am quite full," said Prinz Eugen with a thoughtful nod.

"Same here," Frisco idly popped a grape in her mouth, seemingly more out of want of something to do than any nutritional need.

"I could go for some ice cream," said Lou.

Frisco glared at her.

"What?" said Lou with an impish smirk.

"We…" Alaska blushed. Well, not really. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But Cameron could tell. "We have ice cream makers aboard."

"You have _ice cream makers_ aboard?" said Prinz Eugen with an accent thick enough to crush the Maginot line beneath its weight.

All three Americans nodded.

"Mein gott," mumbled Prinz Eugen, "how you fit through the canal I will never know."

Frisco narrowed her eyes, Lou bit back a snort, and Alaska's face changed by degrees to a slightly less impassive smile.

"'s not the same," said Lou by way of explanation.

"Yeah, I got you," said Cameron, eager to move this conversation along. "I'll be right back." Then, with Alaska following so close she might as well have been getting a piggyback ride, he made his way to the dishline to deposit his tray.

"'Laska," he put one hand on her hip and cradled her chin with the other. "You're bothered."

The large cruiser bit her lip and said nothing.

"'Laska, I know you," Cameron gave her a long look. He couldn't imagine what'd bother her so much, but whatever it was it was bothering him too now. "I know you're upset."

"It's silly," mumbled the large cruiser.

"'laska…" that was the other thing Cameron had noticed about his girlfriend. She was so happy and sweet all the time because she _liked_ being happy and sweet. Getting her to voice something unpleasant was like pulling teeth half the time.

"I didn't want to leave you alone with them," said Alaska.

Cameron wrinkled his nose. "'laska… what?"

Alaska hugged her arm and hung her head. "I have three battle stars. That's it. Lou has eleven. Friso has seventeen _and_ a Presidential Unit Citation."

Cameron hung his head and, despite himself, chuckled.

"What?" Alaska dipped her head, resting her brow against her boyfriend with a puzzled look on her face.

"'Laska, I don't love you because of what you _did_ ," Cameron put his hands on her waist and let the big snowball melt into his embrace. "I love you because of who you are."

Alaska slowly smiled. It was clear that she didn't want to, at least at first. But someone had seized control of her bridge and dragged the large cruiser kicking and screaming into happiness. A quick kiss on the cheek sealed the deal. "I… okay."

Cameron could tell her heart wasn't quite in it. "'laska, I told you I love you."

Alaska just nodded faintly.

"You can trust me on that one," said Cameron.

"I— I— I—" Alaska's face fell. "I know, but I don't— I— um…"

Cameron rolled his eyes. "Oh, for crying out loud…" He cradled Alaska's face with both hands and pulled her in for a long, wet kiss right on the lips. She was surprised at first, surprised in that innocent but happy way fell into so easily. Surprised like a man who'd found a twenty in the pocket of his jacket that he'd forgotten about.

Moments later, he felt her hands cradle his back. Her hips pressed against his and her soft bosom—unmolested as usual by anything beyond the thin fabric of her sundress—kissed his chest. He could feel the heat coming off her cheeks, raw sweet heat like laying in a sunbeam on a breezy afternoon.

When the two finally pulled away, Alaska's face was a dopey mask of contented bliss. Her cheeks were flush and her eyes were half-lidded. "Thank you," she mumbled.

Cameron gave her a hug. But then his attention was drawn past her to the table they'd just left. Frisco was looking very intently out the window, Lou was slouching in her chair with a giddy grin, and Prinz Eugen was sitting bolt upright in her chair, clapping furiously like she'd just seen a particularly good opera.

"I miss 'tago," sighed Cameron. —|—|—  
"Sara," Jersey idly thumbed gleaming brass cartridges into the nickle-plated cylinder of her massive revolver. The base's shooting range wasn't half as nice as an open patch of ocean where she could really let her rifles rip, but it was the best they could do on short notice. "You know I respect you, right?"

The tall, svelte battle cruiser nodded, cradling her pistol in her left hand like its weight nothing and lining up a fresh set of shells. She always seemed to do that, Jersey noticed. She'd never take cartridges straight from the box and drop them into her gun, she'd always line them up on the shooting bench first. Maybe it was a carrier thing. "Of course, Jersey."

"And you know," Jersey smacked the cylinder closed and let her gun drop into its formed leather home. "Or, at least I hope you know, that I'm thankful for all the faithful service you've given this country."

"Jersey," Sara covered her mouth with the blade of her hand and smiled. "You're making an old battlecruiser blush."

Jersey rolled her eyes under her shades. "Look, just… I want you to know that what I'm gonna say I'm saying with the utmost respect."

Sara dipped her head. "What is it?"

Jersey pressed her hands together and brought them to her mouth with a deep breath. "You have eight sixteen-inch/fifty mark twos, yeah?"

Sara nodded. "As my primary battery, yes."

"Then why the fuck," grumbled the Iowa, "are your goddamn tits so massive?"

Sara opened her mouth, closed it, and then glanced at the immense swell of her bosom. "They're not _so_ big, are they?"

"Sara, they—" Jersey scowled and leaned back far enough to clear Sara from her line of sight. "Sushi!"

"What!" Musashi snapped back from the other end of the firing line, not even bothering to look over.

"Enough with the gangster bullshit. Put the glock down and get your overtitted ass over here!"

"Why?" bellowed the Japanese super-battleship at a level of volume that compared favorably with the report of a short-barreled .50 caliber.

"Because I fucking said so!" snapped Jersey, causing Sara to giggle for some god forsaken reason.

"Fine!" Musashi set her gun down and spun on her heel, her makeshift shirt-cape whipping around with cinematic fervor. "What can I, Musashi, do to assist you."

"Just…" Jersey bit her lip and motioned to Sara's figure. "What do you think of this?"

"Oh my god," Sara hung her head with a sigh. Jersey might've been born after her, but she had a tolerance for juvenile antics that even Alaska might not tolerate.

Musashi adjusted her glasses and squinted like she was reading some ancient text of great scholastic merit, and not leering at a former-carrier's expansive bust line. After a moment, several faries assembled on her shoulders—two with comically oversized clipboards and one that was trying to rappel down the Yamato's upperworks with a measuring tape but ended up getting ensnared in her bindings.

"Well?" Jersey put her hands on her hips.

Musashi held up a gloved finger. "In my…" she smirked and gently cupped her own bosom, " _expert_ opinion…" she paused again, straightened, and pushed her glasses up her nose. "The bow was rounded."

For reasons Sara couldn't hope to understand, both battleships found that unbearably funny. They certainly were a strange bunch out on the West coast. Then again, she lived with Alaska and Atago, so she wasn't sure if she could talk.

—|—|—  
Heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen stopped her semi-aimless stroll through the base when she noticed a poster hanging on the wall. More specifically, when she noticed its polished glass frame, and her reflection therein. She couldn't have cared less about the actual picture, something about helicopters and small boats and marine mammals. She was sure it meant something to the right people, but her attention was far more captured by her own reflection.

The American-flag bandanna she had tied around her arm had slipped a little. Which normally wouldn't have bothered her at all. Friso and Lou had made it very clear that—German-born or not—she was welcome in the US navy, and that her heritage and culture was not something she need be ashamed of. In fact, that'd made it clear that she was welcome to celebrate the culture of her birth whenever she wanted. Although Prinz Eugen was starting to suspect the latter had more to do with beer than anything else.

But despite how welcoming her new friends had been, Prinz Eugen wanted to make sure her new allegiance was was as obviously displayed as possible. Considering… who they were fighting, the heavy cruiser wanted to make it abundantly clear that—beyond some superficial similarities in hull-form and gun layout—she had _nothing_ in common with the monsters occupying Pearl Harbor.

The treaty-defying cruiser took a moment to inspect her work. Sadly, there were no forms she could get notified to _prove_ she'd done things properly, so the German-born ship would need to trust her instincts. And that was when she noticed something that'd never really stood out to her before, the way her uniform blouse bulged over her substantial upper works.

She'd always assumed her substantial non-treaty compliant bustline was a result of her designers' refusal to restrict themselves to treaty obligations, and that her division mates slim, svelt frames were born from _their_ designers' strict adherence to the treaty. It was a reasonable theory, and it seemed to fit all the observed data.

Until she'd met the American giant from the Gulf Coast. Alaska towered over even Prinz Eugen, and she was almost fatter than the German-born cruiser's entire division put together. Her very existence was vastly and fragrantly more treaty-defying than anything Prinz Eugen could hope to do. And she was _flat_. Almost as flat as Frisco.

Prinz Eugen didn't know what to do with that, but she had the worrying feeling that one or more of her chief designers may have been a moron. But before the heavy cruiser could get too snared in her thoughts, she noticed she wasn't alone in the hallway anymore.

"Oh," Prinz Eugen stiffened to proper Prussian attention, the armored rudders of her heels snapping together at reflexive attention. "Saratoga, hello."

The former carrier smiled that gentle little smile that Prinz Eugen could distantly remember seeing several lifetimes ago. She was tall, towering, like New Jersey. But at the same time, she was _not_ like New Jersey. She was lithe, elegant. Her legs were impossibly long and sculpted to perfection, but still they moved with an easy, casual grace. She was more ballet dancer than living juggernaut.

"Pringles," Saratoga smiled a little wider and ran a hand through her long off-brown hair. By the jiggles rippling through her massive trunked stack, she was comfortingly treaty-busting in exactly the way Prinz Eugen was used to seeing. "You're looking… healthier."

Prinz Eugen nodded, and scuffed her rudder heel against the deck. Her last cruise as a steel hull was all a daze. A half-forgotten dream or a film projected on a screen of mist. It wasn't something she could remember easily. It wasn't something she _wanted_ to remember. "Yes, my crew has been trained." She coughed, feeling awfully warm under the collar. "And you, you look… um…"

"I've lost my deck," Sara sighed, sadly weighing her extremely well-developed upperworks with her left hand. "But Alaska and Texas have been very kind and patient in instructing me in gunnery."

"Alaska as well?" said Prinz Eugen with a quizzical look. Her experience with the American super-cruiser was limited, but the only impression she'd left was one of general but non-specific kindness. She certainly couldn't picture Alaska being anyone's teacher.

"Oh, yes," Sara nodded with a twinkle in her eye. "Trust me, there's far more to her than meets the eye."

Prinz Eugen nodded softly, idly mulling over that information in the back of her head. "Perhaps I'll find her again."

"I would recommend it," said Sara. "I don't claim to understand how that girl's mind works, but I suspect she'd be happy to see you."

Prinz Eugen opened her mouth, then closed it again. She'd explain the events at the mess hall, but something told her that was something Alaska would rather keep private. "Mmm."

"Um, Prinz Eugen," Sara said with a tiny hint of sheepishness. "Might I ask your opinion on something?"

"Oh," Prinz Eugen nodded. "Of course."

"Am I…" Sara blushed and glanced past her expansive upperworks, "Overbuilt?"

Prinz Eugen smiled despite herself. "Any other day, Sara, I might've had an answer for you."

—|—|—  
Support carrier Shinano was on her bed doing nothing more important than cuddling a plushie—a ragged bear with a few patches on her fur that had apparently belonged to warrant officer Gale when she was very little—when the door abruptly unlatched and swung open.

This startled the support carrier, partly because this was her room and she wasn't expecting any visitors for the foreseeable future, but mostly because she was just easily-startled by nature. She let out a small yelp and cradled her plushie close against her armored chest for protection. "H-hello?"

A girl stood in the doorway. A very tall girl with wide-set hips who could—if only for her lack of any meaningful chest—have passed herself off as Jersey's slightly smaller cousin without any trouble. A girl dress in a short, airy sundress with white hair that seemed to glow in the late-afternoon sun streaming through half-open blinds. Her small mouth opened and then closed again a moment later. "This isn't my room, is it?"

"N-no," stammered Shinano.

"I told you," said another voice. One deeper and more masculine. A voice coming from the rather short, stocky boy trailing in the girl's wake.

"Sorry," the girl pivoted on her heel to face the support cruiser. "I got mixed up. I'm Alaska by the way."

"S-Shi-Shinano," stammered the littlest Yamato.

"Cameron," added the boy.

"He's my boyfriend," said Alaska with… what Shinano was almost certain was pride. "What're you doing here?"

"Um," Shinano gulped and squeezed her bear tighter. "N-napping."

"Why?" Alaska tilted her head to the side. "There's a perfectly good sunbeam over there," she pointed out the window to a patch of sunbathed grass.

Before Shinano could stammer out an explanation, Alaska spoke again. "I was gonna nap in the sun with Cameron, you should come with."

"I…" Shinano blushed. They were boyfriend and girlfriend. Lovers. She… she wouldn't… she couldn't bear to interrupt their love with her oafish presence.

"C'mon," Alaska grabbed the giant carrier by the wrist. "It'll be fun."

Shinano shot Cameron a pleading look. He just held up his hands and shrugged. "I'm her boyfriend not her CO."

Shinano was still trying to blubber excuses when she stepped onto the grass. She was still scared out of her mind, and would much rather have a room of her own—or at least a corner—to curl up in. But… well…

The sun _did_ feel nice against her skin…

And the grass was pretty soft…

Maybe just a few minutes?

Alaska lay down on the grass with a smile, her eyes closed almost before her head touched the ground. Cameron was across from her, their heads touching even as their bodies extended in opposite directions. "C'mon." Alaska patted her middle, "My tummy's nice and soft, don't worry."

Shinano worried the heavy canvas of her skirt. She just wanted to go home. But… as long as she was here… she _did_ like being cuddled by White… and Alaska's hair was as white as white could be. "O-okay," she stammered.

As soon as her head touched Alaska's tummy, all the support carrier's reservations melted away. This… this was okay.


	30. The Fairynapping IV-VI

Part IV

The same doctor that had been speaking to Kidd coughed into her hand to get the attention of the crowd in the medical office's lobby, and started to speak. "We really did appreciate the help of your medical fairies. Their sutures were the best I've ever seen. Their ability to clean wounds was impressive too. They were good people."

"They talked to you?" Gale asked.

"Heh. Only one word, like every other US Fairy. 'Hey!'" She smiled. "Same with writing. Only 'Hey!' They were pretty good at Charades though. Between pointing at pictures in books and Charades, we communicated fairly well, if slowly." She paused. "They never mentioned anything to us about leaving."

Bannie muttered "Sounds like pretty good opsec."

"Yeah, this does seem planned, and secretive. But they left notes, which is a bit odd if they wanted to be secret." The older marine said.

A notepad and pencil were drawn out of a pocket as the little destroyer exclaimed. "A clue!" and started scribbling madly. Kidd and Dee, turned to her, all three huddling and whispering to each other as Bannie wrote.

The doctor turned and picked up the sign-in clipboard, looking at it briefly. "In any case, it's your turn to be seen, marine gunner Frederick. The knee again?"

"Yeah. Swelled up pretty bad after the PT test yesterday. Ranger candy helped, but it's still wonky."

Dee turned suddenly from the huddle of destroyers to face the marine. "Your name really is Fred!"

A big palm reached out and briefly patted Dee's head. "Yep. My last name."

"And his first name is Marine Gunner, girls. As in a warrant officer, so you need to treat him with proper respect."

"You can call me Fred if you want. As long as I'm not wearing rank. I don't really care about proper forms of address shit unless I'm in uniform and have to." Fred levered himself to his feet, clearly in more than a little pain. "Anyway, with my bunged up knee and with what happened to the Wisconsin, I'll probably be a civilian soon."

Gale closed her eyes briefly, thinking about what he'd said, and when she opened them she was still confused.

The destroyers were also clearly confused.

Fred took mercy on them and volunteered an explanation as he navigated towards the door leading to examining rooms. "I was a trainer for Iowa class main gun crews. Before I was a Marine, I was a squid. Learned the guns in the Gulf War from the old farts that came back to show us how things were done in the double-ya double-ya two. Most of those guys are gone now. The ones that are left are way too old to go to sea, or even move around in a ship, for the most part."

Kidd figured it out first and whispered. "You were on Wisconsin?"

The big man stopped walking, and stiffened a little. "Yeah, kid, I was there."

Dee whispered. "We heard she died alone. Everyone made it out."

The marine breathed out a heavy breath and hung his head as he turned to the destroyers. "You heard right. Lots of people hurt, but nobody went down with her."

Suddenly, all three destroyer girls turned to one another and high-fived each other several times, every girl high-fiving every other girl twice with a grace that seemed well-practiced.

"Dying alone! That's how you do it!" Kidd announced, clearly elated.

"Twenty-five torpedoes, eight under her keel, and she still protected her crew. What a ship!" Dee fist-pumped the air.

Bannie was a little more reserved, but still eager, spinning in a circle, hugging herself. "I hope she comes back soon. I want to hug her so much for being so awesome."

Fred was staring at the girls, clearly not understanding their mood. He started to look like he was growing angry.

Gale took three quick steps closer to him as the destroyers forgot the nearby humans and went on being elated and excitedly telling each other how wonderful it would be when Wisconsin came back. She cupped a hand to shield her speech from the shipgirls and quietly whispered to the marine. "Remember, they look human, and act human a lot of the time, but they see many things very differently. In their eyes, dying alone is one of the best things that can happen to a warship. It means she successfully protected her crew. And it does matter to what a shipgirl is like when she comes back. Arizona and Pennsylvania are emotional wrecks because of what happened to their crews at Pearl."

The marine turned his head towards Gale, and his eyes searched hers for a moment. Then his angry expression faded back into melancholy. "I suppose that makes sense."

Gale suddenly realized that she didn't hear destroyer voices any longer, and quickly turned to face where the shipgirls had been. Quiet destroyer shipgirls were normally either about to get in a lot of trouble, or sink an abyssal sub.

With a deep sigh of relief, Gale saw that the girls were still there, all three staring at Fred.

When Kidd saw that Gale and Fred had finished talking, she took a tentative step forward, with a very serious look on her face. "Gale's right, Fred, we know it's hard for a crew to lose a ship, but you have to remember that we can come back. Our crews can only come back as part of us, and they aren't quite whole people, though they are close. We're sorry if we upset you." She smiled, shyly. "When Wisconsin comes back, she's definitely going to have an awesome Marine Gunner fairy to help her crews get the best out of her guns."

With a slightly pained expression as he put weight on his leg, Fred turned to face Kidd. "Thank you, girls. I'm sure I don't understand it all, but I know more now."

Gale chuckled. "It's a slippery slope, Fred. Three. Two. One."

Fred's face grew puzzled as Gale started counting down, and he turned to face her. "What?"

The three destroyer shipgirls suddenly, but gently, attached to the marine's waist, almost like magic.

Bannie reached up and patted his chest with a hand. "Thanks for caring, Fred."

A smile ghosted across Fred's face while he absently rubbed the heads of the three destroyer shipgirls.

After a few seconds, he started prying himself loose from the triple embrace. "I have to go talk to the Doc, girls. Why don't you ask other shipgirls on base if they are missing their medical fairies?"

"Oh. That's a good idea, Fred!" Kidd nodded energetically. "We'll do that!"

All three girls turned as a unit, to face the door.

Gale coughed. "Walk, girls. Please. And remember, you have radios, and phones."

** CLUE BOOK **

All medical Fairies gone from our base. 112 total.

No non-medical fairies missing.

No non-medical fairies admit to knowing where the medical fairies went.

Doctors at base clinics and the VA hospital last saw them a few days ago.

Fairies that disappeared left official letter of resignation.

Vestal says fairies can't live more than a few days without being part of a shipgirl's crew.

Jersey says CENSORED. (Gale says we can't write that.)

Fred is right. Medical fairies wouldn't just let themselves die.

Akagi Yorktown is missing her medical fairies. She was really upset. Mad, even. She broke her glasses and ran back to her quarters after she found out they were gone.

No other Japanese shipgirls are missing fairies. Akagi Yorktown is the only Japanese shipgirl that has been on this base since before medical fairies disappeared.

No American shipgirls in Japan are missing fairies.

No Brit or Euro medical fairies are missing.

Gale asked for all shipgirls do daily roll calls, even if they are already missing their medical fairies, and report if their medical fairies go missing, or if any return. All agreed.

Doctors did keep track of what the medical fairies helped them do, in patient medical records. The last verified case of medical fairy assistance was two days ago. There were fourteen verified assistance cases that day, which was about average.

Other bases report medical fairies are still actively engaged with on-base human medical facilities.

Fred walked carefully with his cane as Gale read from the notebook. He didn't really need it, but he was trying to remember to use the damn thing. Partly because the doctor said he should, for a couple days at least. The other part was because the doctor was very clear that in a few years, if he kept pushing himself in PT, he'd need the cane, and if he didn't get out soon, he might as well start learning to use it now. Despite thirty years in service, he couldn't bring himself to retire, even though the doc said he would qualify for a medical discharge if he asked for one. Almost nobody was being forced out of any military branch these days, unless they were severely crippled.

He shook his head. "What was that last part again? Two days ago?"

Gale nodded. "Yes."

"How sure is this Vestal shipgirl about-"

The ensign interrupted him. An irritating habit of hers, but he could deal with it. She only seemed to do it when discussing shipgirl topics. "If Vestal says something about shipgirls or fairies, it's almost certainly true."

He tried to put a face to the name. "Ah, she's the older-looking dusty shipgirl that smokes a pipe?"

Nodding, she agreed. "That's her. Repair ship."

"What did Jersey say?"

"Nothing useful. Pretty much every other word was a curse word. It was mostly irritated rambling before she said she didn't need medical fairies anyway, and they could all go and do anatomically impossible things to themselves if being in her crew wasn't good enough for them."

He laughed in his chest, then stumbled and cursed the cane. "So, we're pretty sure that there's a shipgirl involved, somehow supporting the medical fairies, who appear to have left voluntarily. Would any of the girls have reason to poach medical crews?"

Kidd, Dee, and Bannie, all shook their heads. Kidd, leading their formation, spoke "Crew fairies don't need doctors. That's why we never really paid attention to the medical fairies, and let them do whatever they wanted. They liked helping people." Kidd didn't turn to face him, her head was swiveling slowly side to side as the group walked.

Marine Gunner Frederick smiled as he watched the destroyer girls. Whenever they went anywhere on foot with humans, they almost invariably took up classic escort positions. He was fairly sure they didn't even realize they were doing it.

"So, we need to find a shipgirl with too many medical fairies, and no reason to have them." Gale muttered.

"What about Abyssal-"

"No." It was a simultaneous response from all three destroyer girls. Harsh, and with no flexibility.

"Are you sure?"

Dee spoke next, from his left, with a tone of absolute certainty. "Very sure. If Abyssals got onto this base, they wouldn't have just abducted medical fairies. If they could get in, their primary targets would have been the Admiral, Akagi, err, Yorktown, and Wash before anyone else."

It was hard to give credence to such a mature certainty about military matters coming from someone that was maybe four and a half feet tall, and looked like a twelve-year-old girl. He'd started to adapt though, and closed his mouth before he tried to argue, because it did make sense, and these girls, despite their looks, knew more about naval warfare than any living human.

"Fair enough. That doesn't get us very far though." Gale complained, absently as she closed the notebook, and handed it back to Dee.

Fred muttered quietly "We do have a timeline though. Whoever took the fairies did it in the last two days. How hard would it be for a shipgirl to sneak into-"

"Nope." Bannie immediately broke in. "Nobody came into or left port without permision. Security there is seriously heavy."

Gale shook her head. "Not so fast, girls. You can travel on land."

Dee sounded doubtful. "That needs the special super-trucks though. Even for us. I jumped up and sat on the tailgate of a little truck once, like I had seen humans do, and it flipped over on top of me. The admiral was a little upset, even though nobody was hurt. He had to buy the sailor a new truck."

"That doesn't mean it didn't happen. Let's check with the admiral and see if he'll order base security to work with us. We can look at base gate entry and parking lot videos. That will let us compare the comings and goings of the shipgirl transports with authorized base passes, and make sure that matches with who got on and off the trucks when they parked."

Three hours later, Gale, Fred, and the destroyer shipgirls were watching videos, when Fred said "Whoah. Stop there."

Gale pressed a button on the remote. "What did you see?"

"Did you find a clue, Fred?" Bannie asked, mumbling through chipmunk cheeks full of popcorn.

"Not sure yet." He pointed at the screen. "There. The RV. Zoom in on it."

Gale worked the keyboard, and the view zoomed in. "Nice RV, but I don't see-"

"It's a very good clue, I think. That's not just an RV."

Dee, Kidd, and Bannie all pressed in, ducking and squeezing in between Fred and Gale, their faces less than a foot from the screen.

Dee held her magnifying glass up to the screen and looked at the RV with one eye through the device. "I don't see any clues?"

Fred pushed his seat back to give the destroyer girls room to crowd the screen. "Take a look at the tires of that RV."

Dee waved her magnifying glass over the screen. "I see four tires."

"No. You are seeing seven tires, on four axles. And that's just on this side of the RV. Also, take a look at the nose of the truck and the front tires. That's not a van or pickup truck. It's the nose of a semi-truck, with oversized steer tires."

Gale patted Dee's head. "Pull the magnifying glass back a bit Dee, and let me get closer, so I can see better, please."

All three shipgirls backed off and let Gale get closer and she could see what Fred had seen, but it didn't make sense to her. "I didn't know they made RV's from semi trucks. Don't they usually use busses for big RV's?"

Smiling, Fred shook his head and spoke. "My brother drives a truck for a living. We're fairly close, and he likes to talk about the things he sees on the road. Some people do convert semis into RV's. Big busses are also normally built on semi truck chassis." He waved his hand in front of his own face, dismissively. "The important thing is watching what happens when people get out, and get in."

Gale clicked the keyboard a couple times, and the video of the many-wheeled RV started playing, slowly.

Security stopped the RV, and paperwork was handed back and forth. The big vehicle moved to the incoming search lane for inspection.

It was met by three marines, one carrying a weapon, one carrying a clipboard, and a third with a dog.

A door at the back of the RV, almost directly over the rearmost of the three back axles opened, and a woman dressed entirely in white climbed down a very sturdy looking ladder, then stepped away, nodding towards the door of the truck.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?" Gale reversed a few seconds, and watched the RV park and the woman get out again. "I'm not seeing it, whatever it is."

"The suspension. When the woman steps off the truck, the suspension raises visibly. Several inches."

"So?"

"My brother had a triple-dually rear end logging truck rated to haul a hundred tons. Military ten-tons are designed to be versatile and tough, but they can't carry shit compared to a commercial truck with a heavy-duty suspension."

"You can't see the suspension." Gale argued.

With absolute certainty, Fred grinned. "No, but you can tell that all three rear axles are duallys. I don't need to even see that though. Keep playing the video and watch the suspension when the two inspectors and the dog get into the vehicle."

All three destroyer shipgirls were swiveling their heads back and forth watching the conversation, looking at each of the humans as they spoke.

Fred barely managed to keep from laughing at them. They looked like they were watching a tennis match as he spoke with Gale. Dee was frantically scribbling in her notebook.

The ensign clicked on the keyboard a few more times, and the video started moving forward again.

When the two guards climbed into the truck, the suspension didn't even budge. The dog jumping up also had no visible effect. When the inspection was complete, the inspectors and the dog came out, again with no visible change in the RV' suspension. The woman in white spoke briefly with the inspector who was carrying a clipboard, then climbed into the truck. When her weight went on the heavy steel ladder leading up to the door, the suspension of the truck dipped several inches.

"Whoah. Wow. Good eyes." Gale stopped the video.

"See?" Fred smiled broadly. "That woman weighs enough to make that suspension work hard. The guards didn't even make it move at all."

Gale reversed the video and brought the woman in white into view, then zoomed in on her. There was a gasp from Bannie as the image on the screen grew large enough to make out features.

"Assuming that Fred is right, and he probably is, do any of you recognize this shipgirl?" Gale turned to face the destroyer girls.

Bannie was staring at the screen with a wide-eyed frightened expression. Dee and Kidd were looking at her, confused. Gale could see the telltales that indicated the girls were talking via radio, but she didn't need to ask what Bannie was scared about.

In a scared voice, barely audible around the fist she had half-jammed into her mouth, Bannie whispered "It's the Newport News Ghost Shipgirl!"

Part V

"What?" Fred muttered, clearly taken aback. "You're already spirits, right? How can there be ghosts of spirits?"

Bannie stared off into the distance, still gnawing on a knuckle. "I saw her, then the Abyssal cruiser fired on her, and she was gone. There wasn't any wreckage. She was white. All her fairies were white too."

Gale looked at her watch. "It's almost seventeen hundred girls. First of the month. You know what that means. We can talk more about this on the way there."

All three destroyers perked up as Kidd raised her right fist into the air. "Another night at the Citadel!"

Gale smiled "This time, please let the bouncers handle anyone that drinks a few too many or doesn't belong."

Kidd visibly shrunk, slightly, "I never actually threw him out the door."

Fred looked at Gale. "I'm new to this base. What' the Citadel?"

Dee piped up, before Gale could explain. "It's the back half of the NCO club. Only shipgirls and people who have served on returned shipgirls are allowed in."

"So, I can't join you then?" Fred intentionally slightly altered the direction he was walking, and noticed all three girls in formation adjusted their position to match.

"We can get you and Gale in as guests." Dee paused, and turned to look at Fred. "Why did you just change heading?"

"So, you aren't doing it completely automatically." The Marine grinned at her. "Escorting us, that is."

Dee made a little face at the Marine, somewhere between irritated and upset, but far short of angry.

Bannie looked up. "No, not automatically, but close. Escorting is what we do."

With a chuckle, Gale spoke. "Fred, it's like getting a bunch of Marines in a line and telling them to walk. In a few steps, they will start walking in step, without thinking about it. Jersey's just as bad as any destroyer around carriers. Put her around a carrier, and she'll be glued to that ship's side unless you pry her off."

"That makes sense, I suppose." Fred muttered. "Sorry, girls, I'm trying to learn here."

"Slippery slope, Marine. Slippery slope." Gale muttered, with a smile. "Once you get around ankle deep, you can't get away." She reached out and mussed Bannie's hair. "Now, what was that about the ghost shipgirl?"

Bannie didn't stop walking or scanning around them, but she did hesitate before speaking. "It was at Newport News. Dee, Kidd, and I were up there for the weekend. We were doing a fundraiser for shipgirl summoning research and events. The three of us, against the entire Army football team."

Fred muttered, barely audible. "Ow. Those poor fools." Then spoke a little louder. "How did you keep from hurting them?"

Bannie made a throwing-away motion with one hand. "Oh, no, we didn't play football against them. That would have been so unfair, and would have made them look bad. It was an eating contest. They almost won." The destroyer patted her stomach. "I've never eaten so many hot dogs."

Dee broke in. "They would have won, but the referees wouldn't let the Army cheerleading squad help the Army team. Some of those guys could really eat, for humans. A lot of them were even bigger than you, Fred, and some of the biggest were a little fat."

"Ghost." Gale reached over and tapped Bannie's head with an index finger.

The tapped shipgirl responded. "Oh, yeah, well, we had finished the eating contest, and were going here and there for fundraisers and exhibition shows and other talky stuff when we got word that there was an Abyssal cruiser and two destroyers attacking the waterfront in Newport News."

Kidd broke in. "The truck driver was awesome. I thought he was going to flip us over at least a couple times, but he got us to the coast quick."

"Yeah. That was a bit scary though. I'm not sure what would happen if we were going fast in a truck and the truck tipped over." Dee broke in.

Gale raised a finger in the air. "Stay On Target. Ghost."

"Well, yeah." Bannie continued. "The truck let us off at the inlet, so we had the Abyssals trapped in the bay, but they didn't know it. The local police and shore patrol were tracking the Abyssals on the water. The cruiser was closest to us, so we went to ambush it first, hugging the coast and running dark with radar off. Just passive sonar and visuals."

"And that's when you saw her?"

Rapid head-nodding occurred. "Yes. I was on point, and watched the abyssal spotlight a bright white shipgirl on the water. Without radar active, I couldn't tell what class of ship she was, or what weapons she mounted, but she was at least as big as a light cruiser. Kinda skinny though. Sonar didn't give much either. She didn't seem to be under way."

Bannie crossed her arms in front of her and thought to herself for a few steps. "The abyssal started firing on the shipgirl, but I didn't hear any hits. I know I didn't hear the other shipgirl firing back at the Abyssal. Then the ghost was gone. Poof." She raised both hands into the air, palms together, then drawing her hands apart as her arms raised.

"Not even an oil slick or any floaty bits in the water." Kidd interjected, shrugging. "We asked the Professor, and he said she might not have been fully summoned. There had been a summoning event on the pier next to where we saw the shipgirl, and it had been interrupted. The abyssal cruiser killed and maimed a lot of people there-"

"Until she ate a spread of torps." Bannie interrupted. "Too late for a lot of the people though." She paused. "But even after the ghost was gone, I did see a bunch of ghost fairies on the beach. I tried to get close to them and see if any would talk, but they all poofed before I had taken even a couple steps on land. There were still two Abyssal destroyers farther up in the bay, so I left to join Dee and Kidd, so we could end them."

The matter-of-fact coldness in the girl's voice made Fred look down at Bannie. The expression on her face was a thousand-yard-stare, but it quickly disappeared. Seeing that expression on the face of a twelve-year-old girl was chilling in a strange way that he really couldn't express. What was worse was watching her head droop in what was clearly a belief that she had somehow failed.

But, Fred, like many humans in the military, had seen a lot of death. This time, he didn't offer a headpat. He placed a hand on Bannie's shoulder and squeezed slightly, offering support like he would offer to a fellow Marine who had lost a buddy.

Bannie reached up with a hand and placed it on top of his, briefly. Her head came up, and he heard her mutter "Thanks."

"So," Gale began, "Did either of you see her, Dee, Kidd?"

"Nope." Kidd answered first. "Too far out for visual ID against the docks. The lights aiming at the Abyssal were bright to, and I was looking into them."

Dee followed with a similar statement. "I saw what looked like it might have been a cruiser class shipgirl, but same as Kidd, I was looking into spotlights, and operating entirely on visual. Bannie was lead ship and got the best look."

"And nobody ever found anything?" Fred asked, his tone matter of fact, obviously just wanting to be sure.

"Right." Bannie agreed. "We went back after taking out the other two abyssals. Nothing. We even talked to the police, firefighters, and shore patrol."

As they approached the NCO club, Fred could see the girls grow more excited. Their steps started getting just a little longer, a little faster. They started weaving slightly back and forth to stay in formation with the humans who hadn't changed pace.

"Go ahead you three. Just let Sam know to let us in." Gale waved at the destroyers, who took off at a sprint, making a beeline towards the entry of the club.

Fred watched as they came to an abrupt halt a few feet short of the doors, then started talking with the people outside. Some of whom were very old, many supporting themselves with canes and walkers, but a lot of them in wheelchairs. Most of the hale and healthy people in the crowd waiting outside all seemed to be accompanying the elders. A look in the parking lot showed a lot of vans with wheelchair racks.

"A lot of world war 2 crews show up for these?" Fred asked.

"They do, though there are fewer every year. Numbers are shrinking rapidly now. Anyone under ninety that served in the war lied about their age to get in, though there are a lot who did exactly that."

Gale waved at one of the older men who had waved at her in greeting. "The older sailors love coming to swap tales with each other. They also really enjoy being around the crew fairies." Gale looked sideways at him. "The crew fairies are never as alive as when they meet human members of their crew. The original crew members say they can understand their individual counterpart fairies, even though all you and I will hear is 'Hey!'"

"How do they get in?"

"Any ex-crew of any shipgirl can get into the Citadel, with up to two guests. There's a roster for the bar to use before the girls arrive, and shipgirls can tell if any human has served on any summoned shipgirl. Even from other nations. There's some sort of… something they can sense." The ensign paused. "Kidd found a newspaper reporter claiming to be his father two months ago. The guy tried to lie about it, but Kidd wouldn't have any of it."

"That was the incident you were referring to earlier?" Fred looked towards Kidd, who was receiving headpats from a man in a wheelchair that Bannie was pushing.

Gale nodded to an older man who was walking next to them with a cane, and didn't seem to need any help. "Kidd grabbed him by the belt buckle and started dragging him towards the door. It was actually funny in a slightly terrifying sort of way. It's so hard to remember what they really are until they find a reason to get serious about something important. Then you see hardened killers in the bodies of children."

"I saw a little of that from Bannie, when she was telling her story just now." Fred nodded. "I imagine the older-looking shipgirls are easier to imagine as being fighters. Especially the ones with battle scars. I've seen pictures of Arizona and Pennsylvania. They look like barbed wire cage match veterans."

"Definitely. It's hard to get used to until you see it a few times." Gale pushed open the door and entered the NCO club, turning towards another door at the back of the club.

Fred held the door for a few of the older men to pass through before a younger man stepped in and took the door from him, holding it in turn.

As he turned to follow Gale, he got a good look at the door at the back of the club. It was a hatch, not a normal door, but it was very large, with a ramp to let wheelchairs cross. There was a line at the door, and a big bouncer with a gigantic afro and muttonchops checking ID on anyone that didn't look like they had retired before he was born.

Kid and the other two destroyers were at the front of the line, and Kidd was complaining. "Aw, Sam, you know who we are."

The voice was deep, and raspy. H leaned over and poked Kidd in the nose. "I know who you look like."

"Who would pretend to be us?" Kidd wheedled. "Hey, want a bottle for the bar?" A bottle somehow appeared in Kidd's hand, and she handed it to the big bouncer.

Sam took the bottle and looked at it. "Don't know. Don't care. You gotta be legal to drink to get back there, and you know it." He handed the bottle back to Kidd. "Captain Morgan. Imagine that. But we only use what we get from licensed sellers. That don't have a tax stamp on it. Anyways, I been scammed by some good scammers. Had a Naka cosplayer who really knew her stuff get past me a couple months ago. Admiral says shipgirls gotta pass the anchor test, so that's what you gotta do."

Most of the older men in line were looking at each other with knowing glances. Some seemed genuinely interested in the exchange.

"Fine. Fine." Kidd walked over to a chain suspended from the ceiling next to the hatch. As she put her hand on one of the links, Fred could see metal to either side of her wrist. She gripped the gigantic chain, braced herself, and pulled.

There was a creaking, grating metal-on-metal noise. Several feet away, in a barred enclosure, Fred saw an enormous anchor lift into the air a few inches.

Kidd slowly released the tension on the chain, and the anchor settled back into its rack with a resounding clang. The rest of the bar went completely silent at the noise, except the old timers, who either chuckled, if they seemed like they knew what was happening, or made sounds of wonderment if they had seemed unfamiliar with what Fred realized was certainly a ritual of some sort.

Most of the younger people scattered amongst the elderly men were wearing shocked expressions on their faces, and getting elbowed in the ribs and laughed at by the old men.

Sam nodded and waved Kidd through the entrance.

As she was walking through the hatch, Kidd turned and pointed. "Oh, Sam, Ensign Gale and Marine Gunner Frederick are with us."

Gale and Fred both waved at Sam, who, after a brief glance, nodded back at them. "Roger that, Kidd."

Dee and Bannie repeated the anchor-lifting, then walked in. By the time Gale and Sam made it to the door, the noises at the non-Citadel half of the NCO club had resumed.

As Gale and Fred approached the hatch, they could see that Sam was checking names of all the guests against some sort of database on his tablet. "ID, Ma'am?" The bouncer asked as Gale approached.

"How many times have I come here, Sam?"

"Less times than the girls have." Sam shrugged and pointed his thumb at the open hatch. "Besides, in twenty years or so, you'll be thrilled when bouncers ask you for ID."

"Watch it, Sam."

"OK, in thirty years."

"Better."

Fred started to reach into the top of his PT shirt for his ID lanyard, but Sam just pointed at the hatch with his thumb. "No need, my man. Nobody sports grey like that who can't drink."

Fred stared at Sam for a second, then smiled. "So the anchor thing is just a show? For their crews and family?"

"Sure. Mostly. Don't really need it for the destroyers, but like I told Kidd, I had a lady cosplay Naka and got by me. Jersey saw her first. Poor girl nearly wet herself when Jersey started into her." Sam whistled and shook his head. "Jersey was seriously mad at that girl." After a second, Sam continued. "Anywho, I know most of the girls now, but there are new girls pretty regular now, and they always stop by when they are on base." He jerked his thumb at the hatch again. "Now get in there. Got folks in line behind you that could use a place to sit, soonest."

Fred followed Gale through the hatch into something that almost felt like a movie set. The Citadel seemed to have been crafted from pieces and parts of hundreds of ships. The floors and walls were teak, clearly old and used. Bits and pieces of all sorts of naval equipment from the age of sail all the way to the modern day were mounted on walls, hanging from the ceiling by ropes and netting, or used as furniture.

But what grabbed Fred's attention more than anything else were the fairies. Hundreds of fairies on practically every available surface. Crawling through the netting in the ceilings, sitting on naval accoutrements hanging on the walls, and, a few of them, sitting on the shoulders of old men.

Over on the bar, a large group of fairies were tap dancing. A few of the older men were joining in, dancing in an open space near the bar, carefully, and slowly, but clearly enjoying themselves and being heartily encouraged by dozens of tiny crew. The fairies were clapping to provide the dance beat, a two-part rhythm, the slow beat matching the older men, and the faster beat that the fairies danced by.

In another corner, there was a circle of a dozen men in wheelchairs playing cards, and each man was matched with a fairy, who moved chips and cards around for him.

There were several fairy-only card games happening as well, and in the darkest corner, behind some netting and tarps, it sounded like there might be a boxing match going on between Marine and Navy fairies. Fred knew that it was Marines against Navy, but he had no idea why he knew.

The huge room was filled with the sounds of thousands of 'Heys', but, somehow, it didn't seem out of place, or bother Fred that much.

Throughout the room were wide-eyed younger folks staring at fairies, and sometimes Fairies approached the younger people, peering up at them.

Gale saw him watching some of the interactions between the younger folks and fairies. "A lot of the fairies recognize their children and grandchildren, and will approach them. The oldest men, who claim to understand their fairies, say that they just want to see what their kids and grandkids are like. The girls agree."

"I never knew fairies could be like this. You almost never see them." Fred looked around himself, then started moving towards an empty table.

Following behind the big marine, Gale explained. "The Japanese shipgirls noticed it first. Their fairies were much more energetic and outgoing in the real world when around their human crew counterparts, or their descendants."

As he and Gale sat, Fred spotted Bannie, Dee, and Kidd standing at attention on the far side of the room. They were next to what was clearly a commemorative wall of some sort. All of the men around them were very elderly, and each man had a fairy on their shoulder, leaning against their ear.

There was a fairy on a tiny scaffold, working on a metal plate with what looked like a hammer and chisel.

Gale followed his gaze. "More names for the wall. The fairies document the passing of the living crew. The living crew that remain pay their respects when the fairies engrave the names. It's too small to read without a big magnifying glass."

"I thought Fairies could only write 'Hey.' "

"They can also write their own names after their living counterpart passes. We don't really know a lot about fairies. They don't like to be poked and prodded, and the girls don't fully understand them either. Holding them captive to study them would certainly create extremely angry shipgirls." Gale looked over at the somber gathering by the three destroyers.

After a few seconds, Fred asked "Are these fairies all crew from Bannie, Kidd, and Dee?"

Gale raised her hand and a waiter came over to the table. "Water, please. I'm on duty."

Fred thought a second, then sighed. "Water as well. I'm on painkillers."

After the waiter left with their order, Gale continued. "The fairies aren't all from the girls here. Every shipgirl on base sends at least some fairies, and most of the shipgirls will show up in the next few hours if they aren't deployed. They can do that because most of the girls have a lot more crew than they need, so even deployed shipgirls will sometimes find a way to have a few of their fairies be here. I've seen Sam open some big next day air boxes with dozens of fairies inside."

Looking around the room, Fred shook his head. "After seeing this, I refuse to believe their medical fairies suicided. They aren't just cogs in a machine."

"It's almost as hard to believe that another shipgirl would poach fairies, or that fairies would willingly leave their shipgirls." Gale drummed her fingers on the table. "We're missing something. Something important."

Part VI

After the red-headed destroyer girl left, Solace leaned back against the wall of the building.

Looking down, her hands were shaking. She rubbed them together and, after a moment, intertwined her fingers and pulled the double-fist against her stomach.

She could hear the sounds of naval rifles being fired in the near distance, less than a few miles away, but she was still desperate to help the people on the beach.

I shouldn't. It's still dangerous.

That's when she realized that she didn't have to. She had supplemental crews with skills none of her original crews had possessed.

I need a squad to check the beach and make sure that everyone is being helped.

Twelve tiny humanoid figures in olive drab suddenly appeared on her shoulders, slid down her upper arms until they reached her elbows, and then hopped off, running towards the beach. A thirteenth tiny figure stayed on her shoulder long enough for her to see him offer a salute, then he followed the rest.

Just thinking about injured people possibly lying untended on the beach made her dry-wash her hands.

I have to help.

She took two steps forward, then a quick step back as one of her captains popped into existence on top of her head, grabbed a few strands of platinum blonde hair, and swung down in front of her face, planting two tiny feet on her nose. His free arm was pointed right between her eyes, making her go a bit cross-eyed to look at him.

In a tiny voice, the captain firmly declared. "No. Not safe. Active shooting. No escort."

She took another step back, and leaned against the wall again. "Of course, you're right, Captain."

The captain fairy relaxed visibly. "We can send medical staff and squads like before, if you want, but you can't expose yourself."

Unclenching her hands, she picked the captain off her nose with her right hand, then flattened the hand and placed it next to her shoulder. He walked from her hand onto the shoulder, then suddenly disappeared.

"I know, Captain. I don't think I would have actually taken more than a couple steps. It's hard to resist, but I do know better. Seven battle stars."

She could feel her crew relaxing, slightly. They were still on high alert, but clearly relieved that she wasn't going to do something stupid.

As she waited for her support squad to return with a report, she watched dozens of oddly-shaped cars and trucks with bright flashing lights moving at high rates of speed, both to and from the beach.

The vehicles might have been strange, but their purposes were not. Fire trucks were obvious. Police cars were also easy to spot.

But one type of vehicle stood out above all others, drawing her attention. Ambulances. They arrived from every direction with lights and sirens, but when they left, every ambulance with flashing lights and sirens was going in one direction.

That way to the hospital where the worst wounded are being sent.

It had only taken her a minute or so to figure out where she was going next. If she couldn't help people on the beach, she would follow the worst wounded to a hospital and offer her services there, inland, safe from naval threats.

As she was nodding to herself in satisfaction, her recon squad returned. Twelve of them leapt onto her clothing and scurried up to her shoulder level before disappearing. One stopped on her shoulder - the same one that had saluted her before.

She squinted to read his rank. "Corporal. Report."

He saluted, too-long sleeves hiding stumpy little arms. "Good emergency teams. They didn't miss any. All the worst injured loaded up and on the way before we got there."

Solace relaxed. "Good. That will be all for now, Corporal."

The fairy gave her a quick salute, then disappeared as Solace started walking down the street in the same direction that the ambulances had gone.

Captain, do you know where we are? We did go the way the young man told us, right?

The fairy she was holding on her flat palm in front of her face nodded his head. "We did what he said. But this definitely isn't in front of the hospital."

She sent a message over the intercom. Anyone from Newport News ,or know where we are? Get word to the bridge if you do.

After several seconds waiting, she couldn't feel any indication that any of her crew knew where she was either.

"Well. So much for helpful people." she muttered aloud as she gently placed her captain on her shoulder.

Looking around her, all she could see were dumpsters, closed doors, and windows starting on the second floors of the brick buildings. The only exit was back the way she'd come.

"Nothing to do but backtrack, I suppose. Maybe the next person will be more helpful."

There were the sounds of several people walking towards her, and she overheard conversation. "Billy, if yer lyin, I'm gonna beat you. Missing that meeting to pick up more product could cost us."

A voice she recognized from just a few minutes earlier spoke. "Not lying, Phil. Rich pretty bitch nurse asked me which way to hospital. I told her this way. She went in."

Solace froze. There was no mistaking what had just occurred. She'd been told a false path, and was now being ambushed.

She reached towards a door, but the handle wouldn't turn. Her hand fell away from the thick steel security door. She looked to other nearby doors. They would probably all be locked as well, but she needed to try them anyway.

Moving rapidly, she tried three doors, all were locked. She was almost to the fourth door when she heard a wolf whistle behind her, and a loud exclamation.

"Hello, Nurse!"

Slowly, Solace turned to face the voice.

There were six young men coming into view. The tallest of them was walking in front of the others, and turned a little to the side as he stopped, looking at the man that Solace recognized as having given her directions before. "Billy, good job. You get to go second."

Another voice from the small pack of men started. "Aww, Phil, you said-"

"Billy found her, Rand, and led us to her. Shut up. You go third this time, second next time unless someone else leads us to tail."

Solace took a step backwards, and felt behind her for the door handle of the fourth door. She found it, but it was locked like the others.

The tall young man stepped towards her. "People in this alley keep locked up tight, Nursey. No tellin' what sorts of bad hombres might be running around in this part of town." He waved up at a window. "They know better than to see anything either. Bad things happen to people who see things they shouldn't."

Solace saw the drapes in the window move, closing, then the light from inside went out.

The five men behind Phil made various noises that sounded like crosses between hyena calls and laughter.

Phil took a few more steps forward, moving slowly, demonstrating a gap-toothed grin. "Don't worry. We ain't gonna kill ya. That'd be bad for business. More cops means harder to sell stuff." He leaned towards her, and foul breath blew in her face. "You won't like it much, but that's why it's fun fer us, see?"

She hadn't been able to move a muscle since the young man started approaching her. She still wasn't able to move as he suddenly reached forward, grabbed her blouse right underneath her neck, and pulled down, hard.

Surprisingly, nothing happened to the blouse. The young man jerked forward slightly with the force of his own effort, and his forehead collided with her own.

He bounced off her, released her blouse, and started shaking his head as he took two steps back.

She could feel her crew, especially her supplemental crew, preparing to go to general quarters, and quickly sent a message over the intercom. "We can't fight. Do not resist."

She could feel her captains loudly arguing amongst each other, and several of the officer Marines from her supplemental crew as well.

"Did she really just headbutt Phil?" One of the underlings muttered.

Phil looked up, and he was obviously ready to hurt someone. He reached his hand behind him, and withdrew it again, with a big knife. "That was a mistake, bitch."

Solace held up her hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

One of her supplemental crew suddenly appeared on her shoulder, grabbing her ear and whispering into it. She turned her head and stared blankly at the tiny green figure, for a moment before smiling and chuckling, a bit.

Phil took another step back. "Laughin? You a crazy bitch. Gonna make you wish you was dead by the time we're through."

After that announcement, the gap-toothed leader took a step towards her, waving his knife suggestively in front of himself in his right hand.

She waggled her right index finger at him. "You had best let me go, or things will go poorly for you and your friends."

"Crazy and stupid bitch. Threaten me?" Phil's left hand reached out, and grabbed her right wrist. He yanked at her arm, hard, but nothing happened.

With a little smile, Solace shrugged her right hand, throwing off Phil's grip. Then she said "Crew, repel boarders. Do not kill them."

Six young male criminals suddenly found themselves swarmed with tiny green figures that were impossibly strong for their size. Within seconds, they were knocked down. Their clothing was rapidly torn into strips that were then used to bind them.

Solace knelt down in front of Phil. "You aren't wearing uniforms. That means you're pirates. I'd be within my rights to let my crew execute you."

Phil and the others were bound and gagged, unable to respond. A green figure was at each criminal's hands and feet, holding tension on a strip of cloth tied to each extremity to keep them immobile. Phil's eyes went wide, and there was a smell that indicated that he'd lost control of his bladder.

Solace gave him another stern look, then looked around herself to see what her fairies were doing.

Dozens of green-clothed fairies were rapidly sorting through the possessions of the attackers.

Solace did a double-take as one green-clad fairy officer picked up a pistol and holster that was as large as he was. As she watched, the pistol rapidly shrank, and, after about two seconds, the officer fairy spent a moment to put on the now-appropriately-sized pistol and holster.

A couple medical fairies had apparently followed her marines, and were examining clear plastic bags with various substances in them. There were crystals, powders, and plants. After some deliberation and sniffing of contents, the doctors collected a few of the bags, and left the others where they lay.

The marine officer who was now wearing the appropriated pistol whistled, and waved at the medical fairies. He started talking rapidly to them, and they shook their heads. The marine, clearly angry, approached her, in a stiff-legged walk, which, because of his bodily proportions, looked utterly adorable.

She reached down and picked him up with her right hand. The medical fairies had followed the Officer over, and looked up at her, anxiously, clearly wanting to be a part of the conversation. She reached down with her left hand and picked them up.

The Marine officer, a Captain, making him her highest-ranking Marine, spoke first, rapidly. "You are in unknown, dangerous territory. These six know you are here, and might talk. You said we can't kill them, but you didn't say we couldn't drug them and make them doubt their own memories and make their stories suspect."

The doctors both shook their heads, and one spoke. "We don't know what some of those drugs are, or how potent they are. We'll have to analyze and test the opiates we kept for painkillers. We don't know proper dosages. We might accidentally kill them. Also, there are six of them. The memories are already forming. The drugs will take time to interfere with their minds. The fact that they had all these drugs, so much money, and what they tried to do to you, means they are very unlikely to go to authorities with any stories."

"So much money?" Solace looked down, and saw a half-dozen Marines sitting on a stack of green notes that certainly looked like money.

An idea started to form. She really wasn't sure how good of an idea it was, but it was something. She nodded at the Marine and the two medical officers. "Thank you for your advice. I have made up my mind." She put both hands up to her shoulders, and the medical fairies jumped onto her, then disappeared. The Marine stayed out in the open, riding her shoulder, looking comically fierce.

After settling in the fairies, she looked at Phil and the other five young men who were all weakly struggling against the fairies that were easily holding them in place. She stepped forward to the pile of possessions, and sorted through the pile until she found a big metal belt buckle.

Then she reached over and picked up the pile of paper money. It seemed like a lot of money, but she really didn't know what a dollar would buy. It had clearly been a long time since she had last sailed. The leader had said they were going to buy product though, and product probably meant drugs, so the amount was likely significant.

She counted fifty one hundred dollar bills, and a large number of smaller bills. She kept twenty-five of the hundreds, and all the smaller bills, placing them in an empty pocket. The remaining twenty-five bills, she folded twice, and held up as she turned to Phil.

Solace had spent a long time in service after the war as a Turkish cruise ship, the SS Ankara. None of her civilian crews had returned with her as active crew, but she still had memories of their interactions with each other, their passengers… and quite a few smugglers. Most of her crews had been good, honest men and women, but many had been criminals. Those particular memories were unpleasant and distasteful, but, unfortunately, they were now relevant. She refused to kill or maim, but her criminal memories indicated that creating fear might be enough.

Reviewing her idea again, Solace blanked her face. It was important to make the proper impression.

"Phil, you will take this money, and leave the city. You will not tell anyone about me, or what happened here today." She tucked the wad of folded money under the cloth strip holding the balled cloth gag in place in Phil's mouth.

Then she brandished the belt buckle with a flip of her wrist, and held it between her forefinger and thumb, slowly putting more and more pressure on the big plate of metal. It rapidly deformed, folding in half.

Phi's eyes grew large, and as she glanced at the other five men, she saw she had their undivided attention. She turned the folded belt buckle in her hands, and slowly folded it again. Then a third time.

When what had recently been a belt buckle was folded into a rough cube of metal, she placed the cube in her mouth with a theatric flourish, and slowly, carefully bit it in half. The impression she was making was important, so she also made certain she kept her mouth slightly open, to make sure that the sounds of metal stressing and tearing were quite audible.

By the sounds of fear, and a strong new scent of ammonia in the air, it was clear that at least one of the men had found something left in their bladder.

When she had bitten through the metal cube, she caught the falling piece of metal with her right hand and chewed what remained in her mouth, loudly, then swallowed before placing the remaining tooth-marked half of the small metal cube on Phil's chest.

In a sultry voice, she patted his chest and whispered "That's something to remind you of me."


	31. The Fairynapping VII

Part VII

Solace, her mind turned inward, was meeting with all of her officers in the dining room in officer country. The meeting was a planning session.

From her position at the head of the long table, Solace looked down the table at the officer that had requested to speak about a potential problem. Boredom. "I don't understand, Captain, we all get bored sometimes."

One of Solace's Navy Captains coughed into his fist, and Solace corrected herself. "Major." Then, after a moment, she continued. "Can't you do training or, well, read in your quarters?"

Her ranking Marine officer nodded slowly. "Yes. And we are doing that. But eventually, there's going to be a problem, and no amount of training programs or shipboard recreation is going to solve it."

Solace stared at the Marine for a moment. "Well, spit it out then, and let's do something about it."

The Marine officer sighed. "Bored Marines are… different. Some of them like to read, others like sports, but, well, a lot of them like to fight. Even the ones that like to read and like sports will jump into a fight if you offer them one. We need that sort of attitude to do what we do. But when there is extended downtime, there can be issues."

Two of her naval captains nodded sagely. Solace took their nods to be agreement based on experience.

"So, what do you suggest, Major?"

The Marine cracked his knuckles absently. "One thing that used to help was writing letters home, but, well, since we discovered that we've been dead for around seventy years, and humans can't seem to read what we write anyhow, writing letters to family just doesn't have a whole lot of attraction."

"That's a problem most of the crew shares, Major." Solace spoke softly.

He waved dismissively. "Nothing to be done for it, I agree. But we still need to address the boredom, and I have an idea that can potentially solve several of our problems."

"I was hoping you had a solution for the problem you were bringing to us." Solace smiled.

The Marine chuckled. "It's highly frowned on in the Marines to just complain, Ma'am. Sometimes the answers are not pleasant though, and I'm not sure how much you're going to like my proposal."

"I can't comment until I hear them." She waved her right hand in the air in a rolling motion, indicating that he should speak further.

"Well, we are in a major population center, and, as everyone is aware, there is a fairly significant crime problem."

All the officers muttered in agreement. The would-be rapists that had attacked Solace a week ago hadn't been seen since, but she and her fairies had been buying papers and watching Television in her hotel room for most of that week, not actively hunting for them to make sure they left the city. Those same news sources had made it clear that crime was pretty bad in the docks area, as well as several other lower income sections of the city.

The Marine let the muttering die down. "The money we got from the criminals won't last long. And it will disappear faster if we start spending it on things besides food, shelter, and news."

Solace nodded. "Yes. We have about a week and a half of funds left at this rate." Four newspapers, the hotel's rent, and six buffet meals a day were taking a rapid toll on the twenty-five hundred dollars that she had taken from her attackers.

"If you let us, we can make the money problem go away, and also deal with my men's boredom." The Marine paused. "As small as we are, we can hide and sneak around quite easily. We're more than a match for a human one on one, and if we are hurt, or even killed, we heal up good as new in just a day or two."

"I see. You are proposing that I allow you to hunt criminals, and take their money?" She could feel herself frowning.

The Major raised a finger before she could speak again. "Yes, but not only that. The police here need help. We've seen it on the news and in the papers. The criminals are hard for them to deal with. We'll be helping to support law and order."

Solace leaned back in her chair, staring at the Marine. "So, you want to be vigilantes. That's not a whole lot better."

The officer shrugged. "Yes, but that's not all. A lot of the people that are seriously hurt in the city are victims of gang-related violence. We aren't doctors, but that doesn't mean we can't help people."

One of the medical staff spoke up. "How will you keep people from figuring out that Solace is here? We now know what she, and we, are. A shipgirl and crew. So far, there doesn't seem to be anything on the news to indicate anyone is looking for us, but if you start banging heads and taking money from criminals, that might change."

"Retired." Solace muttered. "They had no need of me any longer. We don't have naval guns, and shipgirls and their crews don't need us to fight Abyssals. Humans need us."

There was a nervous general consensus of agreement. Solace wasn't combative about it, but she clearly felt hurt by her forced retirement, years ago, even though she understood it.

The facts were clear, even if Solace's reaction to them was not entirely rational. There was no news at all about non-warship shipgirls, except Vestal, but Vestal was useful to the war effort, since she apparently could act almost like a doctor for shipgirls. She was afraid to show up, and be found useless. What if humans could reverse the summoning? Solace had resisted returning to the world, but now that she was here, she could see she was needed. But not like other shipgirls.

Even the Marine officer had finally agreed two days prior that Solace was not going to be much use in a battle against Abyssals.

None of that was currently under discussion though, and the Marine shook his head slightly before continuing. "We need money for training aids. For document access, for references and books to study. All that is above and beyond the bare minimum required to keep you operational."

"True, but we can find a way to make a living-"

One of her Captains interrupted her with a cough. "Pardon me, ma'am, but I doubt it. You're undocumented. You don't have the skills that your crew does, and their knowledge is seventy years out of date, which is why you need a lot of money. You will have to take a low skill job, or an illegal job. The first won't pay enough, and the second won't go over very well with your crew."

"We could set up a clinic-"

Solace was interrupted as all of her medical officers started babbling angrily, all at once, some supporting her, most vehemently opposing.

The Marine looked at her, and tilted his head towards the arguing medical staff.

"I see your point, Major, and, yes, I agree it would be shady."

He nodded. "Illegal. Not just shady. You would need at least a business license, I'm sure, and you're undocumented. Also, you would be exposing your medical crew to be seen by people who could recognize them, and lead the military to you. People that you couldn't threaten to be quiet."

Solace stood and paced back and forth, the eyes of all her officers on her. She was living in a grey world. She wanted to help people, but she was useless against Abyssals. Her medical staff had seen enough about modern medicine to feel very insecure about their skills. Her money, gathered by violence against criminals, was quickly running out.

But she did have two hundred Bored Marines, with skills that were quite well-suited for preying on human predators. Unfortunately, even if they were sneaky, they would certainly be seen, eventually, which might lead people to her.

Unless.

She stopped pacing and smiled. "Major, I agree with your suggestion, but we're going to have to set Rules of Engagement, and alter your uniforms."

One Week Later

Detective Wilbur Sanson stared up at the decorations hanging from the street lamps. One of the decorations stirred, apparently starting to wake up. A week ago, he would have never believed it would become a daily occurrence to find gang members dressed as French maids hanging from street lamps, drugged with chloroform.

He waved at the ten officers and the forensics team that had converged on the scene when it had been reported. "You know the drill, boys and girls. Set a perimeter. Get pictures, then get them down. See if they have evidence on them like the last ones."

The officers and forensics technicians leapt into action, yellow tape and ladders, cameras everywhere.

As he looked around, Wilbur saw brightly-colored movement in an odd place, a spot of green and red on a nearby rooftop, but it was gone before he could focus. He dragged his gaze along all the nearby rooflines, looking for anything else out of the ordinary, with no luck.

Three smartphones were found, and contained videos of drug deals, extortion, and the first two blows of an assault against a woman. Each ganger had a piece of coal and a very detailed list of 'naughty deeds' they had committed in their apron pocket.

A reporter arrived and started pestering him as he supervised the scene. "So, Detective Sanson, Santa's Elves struck again?"

"Off the record. It looks like it." Wilbur agreed, hands clasped behind his back as he watched his people wok, and watched the rooflines with his peripheral vision.

"Anything on the record, yet?" The young woman asked as her cameraman surveyed the scene of police officers cutting men in French maid outfits loose of the bonds holding them suspended from streetlamps.

"No. I'm not commenting on the record on anything this weird. I'll leave that to the commissioner."

"Looks like the same people did this? Or copycats? Or are the gangers all still saying Santa's Elves attacked them?"

Wilbur sighed, thinking about the green and red blur he'd just seen. "Off the record. No comments from these people yet. They are still drugged." He paused, considering. The commissioner had already issued a press conference that morning, so he wasn't spilling any beans. "On the record. The ones from yesterday are sticking to their story."

The reporter raised an eyebrow. "The commissioner said that already, but it is strange. Do they actually believe it? What's your take?"

Wilbur chuckled. "Again, off the record. I think the world is becoming a very strange place, ma'am. We have monsters in the ocean, and our old warships are coming back as young ladies and girls. I really wouldn't be surprised if Santa Claus has come to town."

"In September?" The reporter gave him a lopsided grin. "That would confuse people, I'd think."

He snorted and raised both hands in a rapid hands-up gesture indicating confusion. "Why not? Maybe he's making up for not being around for the last few hundred years."


	32. Chapter 26: Cold

_**Uploader's Note: I've been going rapid fire on these updates, havn't I? I decided to throw out the schedule, at least until this chapter, as the story is once again picking up.**_

 _ **On the off chance you are reading my own stories, I am working on them, but I've made a lot of commitments as a beta (perhaps too much), but I expect to update**_ **something** ** _soon._**

 ** _Without further ado, enjoy!_**

—|—|—

"Ma'am?"

Fleet carrier Akagi held up a leather-clad finger and pressed her free hand against her aching belly. She starving, and her if it weren't for the stiffening of her gauntlet she was sure her fingers would vibrate out of reality. But just the thought of eating made her already tortured stomach pull maneuvers that even a stripped-down Zero couldn't match.

She hadn't thrown up—yet. But she could taste bile in the back of her throat, and every breath was wet with what she could only describe as the taste of soggy, rotten rice. "I'm…" she took a deep breath, her cheeks puffing as she held it in. She was so hungry. She knew the Americans had hamburgers. She'd wanted to try a hamburger for some time now. But just thinking about it made her gag. "Uugh."

"Water?" the airman offered a canteen with a gentle look.

"Thank you," Akagi took a swig and nearly threw it back up. She'd been in the air so long, spent so much time focusing on keeping things down, she'd forgotten how to swallow in the first place. She only just managed to choke back a mouthful of lukewarm water back. Her next sip was much smaller, barely a thimbleful.

It wasn't much, and the water tasted faintly of plastic. But Akagi was quite certain it was better than tasting her own oil bile with each breath. At the airman's urging, she took another cautious sip. This one went down easier. Akagi could already feel her body settling back onto an even keel. It was nice to know that story about a carrier's natural affinity to flight wasn't a total lie.

"Can you stand, ma'am?" The airman offered a helping hand. Which, Akagi thought, was a sweet gesture, but ultimately pointless. She weighed almost thirty-seven thousand tons. Sure, flight suits weren't flattering, but he couldn't be hiding that much muscle.

"I think…" Akagi grabbed the cargo netting that doubled as the back of her seat and carefully tested her legs. Her heels slid against the deck for a moment before the gritty anti-fouling caught. Her stomach registered its displeasure at the sudden change in location, but in a polite manner. It cordially requested Akagi vomit instead of demanding it, and the standard aircraft carrier was able to bite back the request with a click of her molars. "yes. I can."

"Right this way, ma'am." The airman offered Akagi his arm like he was walking her down the aisle. Akagi was more than happy to take him up on his offer. Together, the two walked down the super-galaxy's ramp onto the tarmac where three massive trucks and one staggeringly massive carrier were waiting.

Marines standing guard over their massive metal beasts snapped to attention, while the towering form of armored support carrier Shinano just froze mid-breath. At least, she froze until one of the marines aimed a subtle kick at her meaty shin.

"O-oh," Shinano blushed deeper than it should be possible for a girl of her amazonian stature to manage. "A-Akagi-sama, Kaga-dono," Shinano bowed low from the waist, holding out a cheap Styrofoam cooler filled with… was that ramune!

Akagi licked her lips and didn't even bother to hide it. Across the flightline, Kaga stared at the cool lemony offering with her usual stoic detachment. But Akagi could see her step-sister knead her stomach with both hands.

"P-please," Shinano stammered. "T-take some."

Akagi smiled. She reached for a bottle, but couldn't resist taking a small detour tousle the towering support carrier's shaggy brown hair. Her messy braid was already falling apart into a bundle of ill-corralled floof, but Akagi was of the opinion that the messy hair look worked for the littlest Yamato.

Shinano let out a noise that somehow both overjoyed and terrified while Akagi and Kaga plucked drinks from her cooler. Even in the dusty California heat, the bottle was frosty. The soda inside fizzed when Akagi popped the marble out, and the pride of CarDiv 1 swore she saw her division-mate smile after her first sip.

"Thank you, Shinano." said Akagi.

Shinano mumbled something in response, but it was lost in the sudden eruption of a kind of ordered Chaos Akagi had long since learned to accept as something singularly American. She'd seen magazine detonations with more structure and order than the whirlwind her hosts were putting her through. One moment she was sharing a cool drink with Shinano, the next she was aboard a massive semi-truck hurtling down the highway propelled as much by the bellowed oaths of its driver as the straining coughs of its engine.

Before she'd even processed that, she was sitting at a table with a tray piled high with foot set before here. There were waffles drenched in syrup, carved turkey with potatoes and rich gravy, hamburgers with thick-cut fries, mountains of ice cream and piles of cookies.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted breakfast or dinner," said a girl standing between the two flat-tops of CarDiv one. She was tall and—excepting the well—appointed rear end that seemingly all American warships seemed to have—slender with a mane of shockingly white hair that fell past her shoulder-blades.

Akagi's belly rumbled, and she could feel Kaga's tummy vibrate through the floor. There was so much food, and all of it looked so good! "Thank you, um…" Akagi squinted at the tall white-haired girl. She was a ship, that much was obvious, but what kind? She was clearly far too huge to be a cruiser, but she didn't look like a battleship…

"Alaska," said the tall snowy-haired girl. "I'm a cruiser."

Akagi squinted again.

"H-honest," said Alaska, if that was her real name. But before Akagi could press the absurdly huge 'cruiser' for more information, she was interrupted by another—even huger—warship hopping up onto a table at the front of the mess hall. This one, at least, Akagi knew for certain to be a battleship.

"Alright!" New Jersey's thundering contralto boomed over the mess hall loudly enough to push several doors ajar. "Everyone, listen the fuck up. Flattops, I know you're hungry, but time is of the fucking essence. I trust you can eat and listen?"

Kaga nodded. Akagi raised her thumb, only to pull it back when she realized it was smeared with ketchup from her fries. A few quick licks and it was back in the air.

"Good," Jersey planted her hands on her hips. Her massive revolvers were summoned and the leather of her gunbelts creaked as she paced the table. "Concept of fucking operation:"

A screen behind her flared to life, showing aerial recon photos of the besieged Hawaiian islands. "Oahu is under attack." The screen flicked over to a picture of massive battleship painted evil gray. "By these fuckers. We are going to sail down there and hit them so goddamn hard right in their national socialist cunts it'll make Arky and her fishies look like a delicate french masseuse. Any fucking questions?"

The room was silent.

"Akagi, Kaga," Jersey waved her half-gloved hand at the two flattopped gluttons, "You're my strike element. I trust you remember how to do it?"

"Hai!" Akagi nodded.

"Flatayam," continued the battleship. "You're on CAP duty. Keep the skies clear for CarDiv one's."

"M-me?" stammered Shinano.

"No, the other flat-topped Yamato in the room," said Jersey. "Yes! Fucking you."

"Bu-bu—"

"Shinano, goddamit," Jersey cradled her head in her hands. "White says you picked up CAP doctrine better than any jap flattop she ever trained. Plus, you can take a hit better than any carrier on the seven goddamm seas now. Or is little White lying to me?"

Shinano shrank into her seat with a quiet not. "No."

"Can you do it?"

The littlest Yamato thought. She glanced at her sister, who just offered a slight nod, and stiffened. "Yes!"

"Out fucking standing," said Jersey with a smile. "Alaska—"

"Yes?" the giant white-haired girl who'd been acting as Akagi's waitress perked up.

"You're leading our cruiser screen."

Akagi nodded. So she was a cruiser after all. Must be something in the water.

"Sara," continued the towering Iowa. "I want you with Dessboat. Plug the holes."

A tall, slender, but inexplicably well-endowed battle cruiser that was somehow both familiar and unfamiliar nodded. "Of course."

"Mushi and I will do the same," said Jersey, "and come down like a ton of bricks on anyone the flattops miss. Understood?"

There was a chorus in the affirmative. One of Akagi's faeries—who'd been taking notes with a pencil nearly as tall as he was—looked over and gave the closest approximation of a thumbs-up a faerie could manage with its tiny featurless hands.

"Outstanding," Jersey planted her hands on her hips again. "We sail with the dawn."

—|—|—

"Hey!" Cameron took off at a jog, only barely grabbing Alaska by the tip of her wolf's fur-lined sleeve. It was funny, now that he thought about it. Ever since they'd landed in Cali Alaska'd been dressing in skimpy, airy sundresses. The kind of outfit that was supposed to make a girl pretty and sexy.

And they did, Cameron couldn't deny that watching his girlfriend nap in the grass in her little sundress was like something out of a dream. But at the same time… it wasn't her. Now, bundled in her parka and strapped with her brace of guns, she looked like Alaska. Gentle and sweet, but a warrior to the core.

"Hmm?" Alaska brushed a strand of stark white hair from her eyes and smiled at Cameron. It was that tiny, innocent smile that even he couldn't quite read. Partly because of how inscrutable the large cruiser was, but mostly because of how lost he got staring into those ice blue eyes.

She was gorgeous. She was sweet, she was kind… and he loved her. Finances be damned, he wanted to take a knee and ask her to marry him right then and there. "Uh," Cameron blushed. He loved her so much, but… proposing right before she went off to battle… it'd jinx the whole thing.

He never used to believe in superstitions like that. But he never used to date the living spirit of a warship sunk decades before he was born either. "C'mere." He dragged the big girl into his arms for a hug. She almost melted into his arms, soft in her parka and warm like a fluffy comforter fresh out of the dryer. The sent of her hair filled his nose. "Stay safe out there, okay?"

Alaska giggled and rubbed her nose against his. "That's the plan."

Cameron gave her a squeeze and slowly let her go. "Hey, 'laska?"

"Hmm?"

"Good hunting."

Alaska didn't smile this time. She just nodded resolutely and turned back towards the docks. Cameron stood where he was, watching his boat girlfriend march off to war. He wasn't sure if he was more worried or proud.

"Hey," A rumbling contralto that could only belong to one super-battleship spoke from somewhere beside him, and Cameron almost jumped out of his shoes.

"J-Jersey?" Cameron gulped.

"You got a good thing going with her," said the towering Iowa. "Don't fuck it up."

"I, uh, I wasn't planning to."

A melancholy smile passed over the Iowa's chiseled features. "Yeah well…" she trailed off and fished a gun from her hip. After a moment's examination, she slammed it back into its leather cage and smiled. Cameron couldn't help but notice she had far more canines in her grin than any woman should. "See ya around."

"Hey, Commander," said Cameron. "Give 'em hell."

"Oh please," Jersey rolled her eyes and pulled on her shades. "I ain't going that easy on them."

—|—|—

When the first rays of dawn washed over the fleet, Akagi's deck was already a bustling hive of activity. A massive strike package of torpedo-carrying Ryusei and bomb-laden Susei were already spotted on her deck, along with their escort of Akagi's precious Reppu. Faeries darted to and fro on the frigid wind-swept deck, arming and fueling planes and handling explosives too dangerous to be kept below in her hanger.

Akagi had learned her lesson from her last defeat. She would not die so pointlessly again. She would not die this day. She would not die.

Right?

Akagi bit her lip, trying to block out the bitter chill that was spreading from the besieged island like a plague. She knew things were different this time around. She steamed in a fleet escorted by the mightiest warships the United States could offer. Her planes were better than she'd ever have dared dream in nineteen forty one. She should be confident of victory.

And she was.

As confident as she had been when she made steam for Midway. She knew, knew, that the spineless American cowards would break before the might of Japan. Her engagement would be the opening prelude to a grand decisive battle that would bring low the lofty American military and force them to acknowledge the Japanese as their betters.

She'd been certain of victory.

And then a single bomb obliterated her. A single thousand-pound bomb in exactly the right spot and her certainty evaporated like smoke.

But today would be different, right?

She glanced over at her division mate. Kaga's deck was bustling with a full load as well, her face turned unblinking into the bitter wind like she didn't even notice the cold. Her frost-tipped hair whipped back as she steamed with everything she had into the wind. She was the picture of a stoic. The calm, collected battleship Akagi couldn't bring herself to match.

What if it wasn't different this time?

What if—

"Cum Historia."

( ** _Uploader's note: This [^] was linked to the source of the words, look up "Ace Combat 5: The Unsung War- Razgriz Theme". Needless to say, I had it on loop the whole day.)_**

Akagi blinked. That was Kaga's voice… Singing.

"M-multat Valdae Razgriz," sang Shinano. Her voice was small and almost lost in the wind. But it was there.

"Revelant Ipsum," sang Kaga without a moment's hesitation.

Akagi smiled. That song was written before the world knew about Kanmusume. But it couldn't have been more accurate. She took a deep breath, filled her breast with the frigid air and sang. "Primum daemon scelestus est."

Today would be different.

—|—|—

Captain John Henry Solomon woke with a gasp. His heart pounded against his chest. Even through the thick fabric of his flash hood every breath was freezing cold. He coughed, blinking away frost that'd formed on his eyelashes.

He was sprawled out on the deck of a battleship. His battleship. His head ached like someone'd ran an entire armored column over it, his ears rang with a piercing screech. He reached up, fumbling for the bridge rail and awkwardly hauling himself to his feet.

"XO!" he barked, shocking himself with the sound of his own voice. It was tinny, horse, and distant. He pressed his hand against the bridge class, struggling to wipe away enough frost to see past his own ship's slender bow.

"Captain," Holland was by his side, shivering from the cold but otherwise no worse for where. That wasn't right. That… Solomon scowled. That wasn't right, but how…

"What happened, sir?" asked the big New Englander with more than a little trepidation.

"I don't…" Solomon squinted through the glass. Ice. Ice as far as the eye could see, and not jagged floes like before. Sold ice that closed around Mo from all sides, flat as a pool table. "I…" He glanced back at his XO, then past him to the bridge wing.

The last thing he could remember was… was a shell tearing through the bridge wing. Right where his XO was standing. Then, noise. Concussion. The bridge windows blew out, he tasted copper, and then…

Solomon gulped, looking furiously around the frigid but otherwise pristine bridge. And that's when he saw her. Standing patiently in the bridge hatchway, waiting to be piped aboard. "Mo?"

She smiled, and slowly brought a hand to her brow. "Captain."


	33. The Fairynapping VIII

Part VIII

Looking around himself after setting down the now-empty water glass, Marine Gunner Frederick tapped the table with two fingers. "Well, it's been an interesting day, but I need to get back to the apartment. My wife and daughters are expecting me for dinner."

Gale nodded. "You seemed to get along well with the girls, and they liked you." Her face grew more serious. "If you can get along with the destroyers, most of the older shipgirls will be easier. If you want me to, I can put in a word for you…"

"My wife will almost certainly try to convince me to retire if there's no need for me on the Mighty Mo or The Big Stick. I'm too old and bunged up either for field deployment as a Marine, or even as part of a standard Marine training cadre." He tapped his fingers on the table, while closing his eyes in thought or memory. "But I can speak to her about it."

His fingers tapped the table once, fairly hard. "There is another possible problem that I want to make sure you have thought about. I'm a WO2. How is that going to slot into your organization?" As he finished the question, he opened his eyes to watch her reaction.

The ensign went immobile, briefly, then suddenly put a hand over her mouth and laughed into it for a second before regaining control of herself, dropping her hand, and starting to speak. "Rank really won't be a problem. Anyone under the rank of Admiral assigned to work with shipgirls is support staff, not command. Other than repair work, which neither you nor I will ever get anywhere near, the girls rarely need any sort of help being ships, or doing the work of ships. It's the 'girl' part that causes them issues. Your job would simply be to help them navigate being human, and you have daughters, so you've got qualifications some of us lack."

His eyes narrowed, slightly. "These three look to be around twelve or thirteen, and act like it when they aren't talking about tactics, strategy, or their history. Are they going to develop into older-looking, and potentially older-acting girls?"

"Vestal says the destroyers won't change in appearance unless they are upgraded, and they will still keep the appearance of girls. Mentally, we don't know, but we haven't seen any evidence of the Japanese destroyers becoming more adult in their dealings with humans." She grinned. "Let me guess, your daughters were handfuls after they hit fifteen or so?"

Shaking his head slowly. "Still are. At least the twins. They're sixteen. My oldest is twenty-three. Good kids, but the eldest sorely tested her mother and I, and the twins still do."

"Twins, you say? Identical?" Gale looked genuinely interested.

"Yup. Identical. Maria and I can tell them apart, mainly because of little physical habits they have, or phrases they use, but they can even fool us if they work at it."

The ensign looked genuinely interested in the fact that his youngest two were twins, so he asked "Twins aren't that abnormal. Why does that matter?"

"Well, we've been summoning a few ships recently, as you must be aware. If things continue to pick up speed and we start drawing more shipgirls out of wherever they come from, there are going to be a lot of same-class ships around." The ensign smiled, with false innocence. "Were you aware that 175 Fletcher class destroyers were launched?"

"No. I knew there were a lot of them though. You think my experience with human twins will help me deal with that?"

"Don't you? Before you had twins, you were just like the rest of us around other people's twins, weren't you? Your pair taught you to pay closer attention to details than most of us have to."

"Can't argue with that." He said as he pushed himself to a standing position with the cane, grimacing as he did so. "I'm not sure if it will be as useful as you think, since I didn't watch the Fletchers grow up, but I can see where you are coming from." He paused. "But, aren't Kidd, Dee, and Bannie all Fletchers? They look a lot alike, but not enough to be confusing. They even have different color hair."

"They are. USS Kidd, USS William D. Porter, and USS O'Bannon. However, we seem to be summoning ships with a lot of character first. As standouts, they act differently enough that it is easy to overlook how physically similar they are. The Japanese have several smaller same-class ships that are nearly impossible to tell apart. If we start summoning a lot more Fletcher-class ships, I think the latecomers are going to be more and more alike."

After a moment, Fred pushed his chair back under the table. "Like I said, I'll speak to my wife. No promises."

Gale nodded. "Thanks for at least thinking about it." Her eyes flicked towards the entrance of the bar.

Fred saw her eyes move and followed her glance. There was a rather impressive young woman headed towards the table he had shared with the Ensign. Washington. The battleship shipgirl, who was rumored to be romantically involved with the young officer he had been sharing a table with.

Gale waved and Washington waved back as she approached.

"I missed you at breakfast and lunch." Washington said as she covered the last couple feet.

"The Mystery of the Missing Medics, Wash. We were watching security videos and brainstorming with Kidd, Bannie, and Dee all morning and afternoon." Gale nodded to Fred. "Washington, meet Marine Gunner Frederick."

Fred shook hands with the battleship, while hoping that she didn't think he was trying to move in on Gale.

"Marine Gunner?" Washington tilted her head after releasing his hand, clearly expecting clarification.

"I served on Wisconsin, as a trainer for her main turret gunners. I had experience on her guns from the first Gulf War."

There was a brief expression of sorrow from Washington, then she sighed and nodded. "I see. Hopefully, she will return soon."

"I'd like that too, ma'am." Fred replied. "She was a good ship."

Washington smiled. "Indeed. She died alone, that makes her one of the best of us who died in action." The battleship looked back towards Gale. "Want to join me for dinner?"

"You did eat this morning and afternoon, right?" Gale started to stand with a concerned expression.

The battleship made a relaxed dismissive gesture with one hand. "Of course. I just missed you. Skipping meals wouldn't be prudent without a reason." Washington smiled and the two hugged.

"Goodbye you two, have a good dinner." Fred said before smiling, waving, and turning to walk towards the entrance of the Citadel.

On the way to the door all three destroyer girls ran up to Fred and wished him a good night. Each adorable in her own way. The Citadel Bar had been built to allow the girls and their fairies to interact with their crews, but what about interactions with humanity as a whole? The oldsters in the room, the decoration of the Citadel, and the hundreds of fairies interacting with the oldsters and each other underscored the fact that the destroyers were far more than girls.

Or are the girls far more than destroyers? He wondered to himself as he tousled Kidd's hair and gave back the bottle of Captain Morgan she had offered him.


	34. The Fairynapping IX

Part IX

"Lace, the patient in room 604 has made a bit of a mess on the floor. Orange juice. Could you go mop it up?"

"Yes, ma'am." I nodded to acknowledge the floor nurse at the desk, and pushed the dust mop towards the cleaning supply cabinet. When I arrived, I swapped the dust mop for the big cleaning cart, replacing the cold water in the bucket with hot, then adding a couple ounces of disinfectant soap.

The patient in the room was completely out of it. She had apparently taken some painkillers and fumbled her drink.

The other patient in the room, all six pounds of her, was sleeping peacefully in her crib by her mother's bed.

While I was cleaning, one of my doctor fairies popped into existence on my shoulder, and I set him carefully on the bed. He balanced himself on the footboard, fished the patient charts from its hook on the end of the bed, and quickly flipping through it, taking notes on his own tiny notebook. Then he hopped up onto the sleeping woman's chest, and used a couple tiny medical instruments to check her vitals.

"Everything OK, doctor?" I whispered as I cleaned, all the while listening closely for approaching footsteps.

The white-clad fairy met my eye and nodded his head, seeming satisfied. Then he hopped to the floor, climbed up and into the baby's crib, checked the infant's vital signs, and made sure the sleep apnea monitor was properly connected. The last thing he did before jumping to the floor and approaching me was to check to be sure the little one's ear wasn't folded under the right side of her head.

As he walk-waddled on tiny legs in my direction, he was chewing on the end of a tiny pencil and examining his notes. He stopped a few feet short of me, and gave me a thumbs up. The baby was clearly in good health as well.

Suddenly, there was a muffled cry of anguish from room 603 next door. It was barely audible, but clearly there was some bad news being given to someone's family. And I knew what family it was. The Andersons.

The doctor heard it as well, put his notebook in his pocket, and looked at me expectantly.

I need four recon team members for escort duty.

At my internal request, four tiny green-uniformed marines popped into existence on my right shoulder, saluting me as I looked at them. A corporal and three privates.

"Get the doctor into the ceiling through the restroom and help him get to a place where he can listen in on the conversation in that room." I whispered, pointing at the dividing room between room 604 and 603.

The corporal nodded, the four marines all saluted me again, and then they hopped off my shoulder to the floor, rolling as they hit, making no noise. They waved for the doctor to follow them, and all five moved into the restroom with haste.

** An hour later, lunchtime. **

I leaned back into the couch, pretending to sleep so nobody would bother me as I consulted internally with my crew.

"What was the news with the Anderson family?"

My senior surgeon, Doctor Bailey, stood, withdrew his notebook, and looked at what he had written there before speaking. "Gail is not growing fast enough. They are almost certain her heart will fail completely before she is large enough to survive the operation."

I shook my head sadly. "Thank you for giving me the abridged version, doctor. Do you agree with their assessment?"

He stared at the notebook, then looked up at the ceiling for a moment, before taking a deep breath and saying "Yes, and no. Gail is not large enough to insert tools into her heart through blood vessels, nor survive open-chest surgery." He paused. "If humans perform it."

The rest of the doctors in the room went utterly silent, then stared at me. It was very obvious what they wanted.

I didn't want to burst their bubble, but I had to be the voice of reason. "Do you really think that you can perform a more successful surgery than humans after only a few months of informal learning from the books we've bought and the surgeries you've watched? There's no insult here. You are smart, and you are learning fast, but do you really think you have learned enough?"

There was muttering, some in support of my caution, and others clearly disapproving of it.

Doctor Bailey took several seconds to arrange his thoughts before responding to me. "Solace, there is one thing that we've been able to do better than humans from day one. Sutures. Using our needle and thread, we can make cleaner, smaller sutures than any human." He waved a hand. "We've been experimenting on rabbits, as you know, and despite the sutures being so tiny, they do manage to hold firm. Something about our magical nature, I suppose, since there's no way any cloth as thick as spider silk strands should be capable of suturing large muscle tendons, even on an animal as small as a rabbit."

I shook my head. "But surgery isn't just about sewing people up. Even if you wanted to operate, we simply do not have access to an operating room and all its equipment. You could hide, but Gail couldn't. There is no way we could operate in secrecy, no matter how we tried to do it."

Doctor Bailey nodded, and raised a finger as he started to speak. "Solace-"

I spoke over him. "And what happens if the operation isn't successful? We have a dead infant in an abandoned operating room, with no human doctor taking responsibility for the surgery that had taken place without the parents' consent. The Andersons would go ballistic. The hospital would be sued. We might be discovered."

"Solace. You are missing one possibility." The doctor's voice was patient, almost condescending.

I tilted my head and stared at him, with slightly squinted eyes. My doctors were smart. "What am I missing?"

"We can work with the human doctors. They do the anesthesia. They open the chest cavity, cool her body and stop the heart. Then we do the repair. We work much faster than humans can, and the injury for access to the chest cavity need not be large enough to accommodate adult human fingers and hands."

I stared at him, shocked that he would even suggest that we break secrecy. After my surprise wore off, I took a deep breath, working hard to suppress my anger. "I can't let anyone know what I am. You know this."

Every doctor in the room stared at me, clearly disappointed.

Doctor Bailey met my eyes. "Solace. What exactly do you expect us to do, after we've spent a few years studying? When our knowledge of modern medicine is up-to-date? Will you continue to be a hospital cleaning lady, only allowing us to read charts and check vital signs of unconscious patients?" He closed his eyes, clenched his fists, then relaxed his fists and opened his eyes. "We're healers, Solace. Even the Marines have more purpose than we ever will if you never allow us to follow our calling. They, at least, are supporting us financially and improving public security by targeting gangs."

"They retired me." I whispered back. "Don't you understand? They wanted a warship when they summoned me. You've read about the others, just as I have. You've read about the summoning theories, about how some people think there are limits on the total of all shipgirl displacement. The other shipgirls all fight. I have no guns. If the military finds out I was summoned by accident, they might..."

I could hear my voice raising in pitch. Clenching my teeth, I looked down at the table. Then when I was more in control of myself, I continued. "...might scrap me. So they could summon a cruiser or a couple destroyers."

"Not entirely accurate, on a couple points."

I turned my head to see the speaker. Who had a voice I did not recognize. There was a loud shuffling of chairs and mutterings of confusion from the other doctors.

The speaker was completely out of place. She was a stranger. "A stowaway?" I whispered. "How did you get on board, and where on Earth did you get that ridiculous ancient costume?"

The woman in the ancient British sailor's uniform with tricorn hat reached her right hand up to her hat, bowing gracefully as she doffed her hat toward me. It wasn't a curtsey, it was a bow. "HMS Victory at your service, USS Solace. I'm afraid I do have to keep at least some of my secrets, but, fear not, I am also adept at keeping the secrets of others."

I spent several seconds trying to decide whether or not I should try to have my Marines capture the stranger and put them in the brig until I could figure out what was going on.

"Cat have your tongue? I'll talk then. You are aware that USS Vestal was summoned? She is not a combat ship. She has not been scrapped or unsummoned."

I snapped back. "Exception. Vestal can help fix shipgirl combat damage, get them back in the fight against the Abyssals. I don't have that capability."

The woman in the ancient uniform adjusted her hat and nodded. "That is true." Then she spoke again. "Another example. Were you aware that USS Constitution has also returned? While she is a warship shipgirl, she cannot stand against even the weakest Abyssal for long. What purpose does she serve? Why hasn't she been scrapped? She certainly displaces as much as a destroyer escort, or even some smaller destroyers."

That was a fair question. I took a few seconds to think before answering. "I don't know, but she has been in the news, doing public events, leading summoning ceremonies. She's also got a whole lot of history and I think that if the military brass tried to scrap her, the people would be very, very angry, and it would hurt the war effort. Not like me. Most people probably have no idea what I was or what I did in the war, despite my battle stars."

Victory nodded again. "Again, true in at least some respects, and fairly well-considered. Another example would be me. HMS Victory, flagship of Lord Nelson at Trafalgar. Like Connie, I cannot stand in a modern line of battle. What do you know of me?"

"You and Constitution do similar things. Morale boosting events. Helping summon others." I narrowed my eyes at her. "And apparently stowing away on other shipgirls. Somehow. For as-yet-undefined reasons."

"Ah. Well-said." The other woman grinned at me. "I would like to think that I also help other shipgirls deal with problems that are causing them issues."

"I don't need a shrink, if that's why you're here." I pointed a finger at her. "How did you get access, anyway?"

"That would be telling. There are things that I know that you do not yet. You aren't the only shipgirl asking about my purpose. Though, to be honest, your problems are a bit more mature than most of the others I have to talk to from time to time." The British girl displayed a lopsided grin. "Trying to get Jersey laid is proving far more challenging than I ever imagined."

"Trying to get Jersey-"

"Yup. You heard right." Victory laughed. "You should see your face. Hilarious."

I leaned back in my chair and took a moment to calm my expression. "So what are you here to say, or did you just show up for a friendly game of twenty questions?"

"Shipgirls are like humans in many ways, Solace." She tilted her head, slightly. "Or, should I say Sarah Olivia Lace?"

"Solace. Since you know who I am." I took a deep breath. "Are you going to tell-"

A graceful wave of her right hand interrupted me. "No, I will not. Your secret is safe with me. That is not my place to make decisions for you, though I'm more than willing to figuratively kick you in the keister now and again."

"Like Jersey's secret was safe with you?" I stared at her, trapping her gaze.

"You don't know Jersey. I promise you that her lack of being laid is no secret to anyone who knows her. The woman has zero tact, which is perhaps to be expected, considering her nature." Her eyes twinkled as they held mine. "I was a first rate ship myself once. Subtlety was hard for me to cultivate, and I'm afraid I still don't always do it very well, but I am far better at it than Jersey. Give her a couple hundred years and she'll probably mellow out a bit."

I shook my head and tried to get back to what was important. "So. Why. Are. You. Here."

"Do you have any idea how refreshing it is to talk to someone who can stay on topic?" She smiled gently, in a grandmotherly way.

This time I lifted my right hand and pointed my index finger at her. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know, as I'm not."

"Ouch. Definitely a point there." Victory's face grew very serious. "To help you make the right choice."

Responding quickly, I challenged her. "What is the right choice, and how do you know what it is?"

The gentle smile formed again. "Ah, now that is a mighty fine question indeed. The right choice is the one that lets you sleep at night. I don't know what it is. Only you do."

I put my elbows on the table in front of me, and kneaded the sides of my temple with my palms.

The voice of Victory continued. "If it's any consolation, you were well on the way to the right answer, I think. I just was in the neighborhood and decided to give you a little nudge."

Looking around me, I saw that the room was empty except for myself and Victory. I snapped my eyes back to her. "What did you do-"

Victory interrupted me. "Nothing. You were concentrating on me. Your fairies are a part of you, though they do have some independence, and don't share all they know. You don't need them for this decision, so they left us to speak alone. They, acting as your self-conscience, had already made their point, and made it well."

"Why now?" I waved my hand around in the air. "I mean, I've been in the world for months. Why did you wait for now?"

"Oh, dearie." The voice was calm. "Because this isn't an easy decision. You don't have other shipgirls to talk to, or humans to ask questions. You are trying to forge your own path. You're afraid. You're alone. You don't understand the world and how you fit into it."

As I watched, the image of Victory began to fade. "Wait!" I reached out a hand.

Shaking its head, the fading figure spoke again. "No, there is no need for me to wait. I have your measure now, Solace. You are lost and alone in an unfamiliar world. You are afraid for your existence if you should be discovered. You are bitter that you were set aside all those years ago, sold to be a passenger ship after you were no longer needed after the war." The voice paused. "But, despite that, I can see that you still understand your duty. That hasn't changed. You didn't need a job. Your Marines have made you wealthy stealing the spoils of smugglers and thieves."

I stared at the now ephemeral figure, digesting her words, while unable to form my own.

The figure finally disappeared completely, but Victory wasn't quite done talking. One last sentence drifted to my ears, almost inaudible. "Think about what I just said about Jersey, and what that could lead to, if she were human. Then take my word. She's human enough."

The implications were clear. I sat in my chair at the head of the long, empty table for several minutes, trying to decide what to do. No matter what way I approached it, I could only come to one conclusion. I summoned all my officers, medical and otherwise in order to lay plans.

** One hour later **

I knocked on the door in front of me, my stomach tied in knots. From inside the door, there was the sound of a voice. "Enter."

Turning the knob, I opened the door about half-way and made myself visible. "Director Stevens, may I have a moment of your time? It is important."

The moderately overweight woman who had once been a redhead, but had stopped fighting the grey years ago looked up at me. The irritation on her face was clear. She squinted towards me, clearly reading my nametag. "Lace, is this something that you should be addressing through building services? You aren't technically even an employee of the hospital."

"No, ma'am. This has nothing to do with my current job duties."

The older woman's eyes narrowed, and she stared at me with searching eyes. "Then you present me either with a mystery that I am almost certainly not going to enjoy, or with a reason to ask building services to provide me with a different custodian. Come in, sit down, and let us see which it is."

I closed the door behind me as I entered, then approached the chair the director had indicated, seating myself rigidly, trying my best to give the impression of seriousness.

"Lace, you have been with us for a couple months, and are one of the only custodians we have ever employed that I have never needed to complain about. The fact that I didn't know your name is a good thing. Because of that, I'm going to give you one more chance to walk out this door if what you are about to talk to me about has nothing to do with medical matters. Even personal issues with other hospital employees are to first be addressed to your supervisor. There is a chain of command for a reason. I and my team are extremely busy dealing with matters of life and death. Do you still want to speak to me?"

I dry-swallowed and nodded. "Yes. I do."

The director pushed her high-backed office chair away from her desk, and leaned back into the comfortable leather. "So, what do you wish to discuss, Lace?"

As planned, I lifted my palm in front of me, palm up, and summoned Doctor Bailey.

My conversation partner jumped in her chair, slightly. I saw her arm move towards the underside of her desk, but neither I nor Doctor Bailey moved. The director's hand slowly moved back to her lap, and her eyes fixated on the tiny white clad figure in my hand.

"Director Stevens, my name is not Sarah Olivia Lace. I am USS Solace, hospital ship 5."

The woman's eyes grew even larger.

I caught and held her eyes with my own. "Please, I beg of you not to make my existence as a shipgirl known to others. I was apparently summoned by accident, and I am not entirely certain what the Navy would do to me if they found out I existed."

The director blinked, then nodded. "I can keep a secret, as long as it is not a danger to do so." Then she removed her glasses and used a tissue to clean them, obviously stalling for time and trying to figure out what she wanted to say. After she put her glasses back on, she spoke. "Well, this is certainly not within the realm of what I expected."

Smiling back at her, I noticed that Doctor Baily, still standing on my palm, was also nodding his oversized head. I moved my hand to the edge of the director's desk, and he stepped onto the wooden surface before I spoke again. "I'm sorry to make your day more, err, interesting, but I hope that by the end of our conversation we'll be solving problems rather than finding new ones."

The director leaned forward in her chair and reached out a finger towards Doctor Bailey, looking at me. "May I?"

"Ask him. He's part of me but he's also his own man, to some extent." I looked down at the fairy in question, who was facing away from me, looking up at the woman leaning forward with the outstretched finger.

In a clear gesture, Doctor Bailey bowed in a manner that really shouldn't have been possible based on the mass of his head being at least as large as the rest of his tiny body. But he did it anyway, and when the bow was complete, he extended his right hand in a clear offer to shake.

Director Stevens stared for about two seconds, then tentatively reached forward with her index finger and touched his outstretched right hand. His arm pumped up and down, and her finger followed the motion.

As they shook hand and finger, Doctor Bailey spoke. "Hey. Heyheyhey. Hey. Heyhey. Heyheyheyhey. Heyhey."

After he had spoken, the director stared at the Doctor, then at me, clearly confused.

I needed to clear up the confusion. "Humans can't understand fairies. I'll translate. He said 'Hello and well-met, Director Stevens, I am Doctor Carrol Bailey, senior surgeon of the USS Solace.'"

"Fascinating." The director returned her attention to Doctor Bailey. "Good day to you as well, sir. I suspect you know more about me than I do of you." Her eyes flickered back up to me then down to the fairy. "Both of you. You have me at a disadvantage. But as fascinating as this is, I have a neonatal ward to manage, and my time is extremely valuable."

I considered my rehearsed words, then discarded them. "We want to help."

The director froze for a moment, gave me a sharp look, and picked a pen up off her desk. She started tapping it rapidly on her leg. "Help how?"

Doctor Bailey turned to look up at me, clearly irritated, met my eye, then turned back to look at the director. He knew what I was supposed to be saying, but he didn't do anything other than make sure I knew that he wasn't pleased with me going off-script.

"I have sixty doctors and two hundred forty nurses and orderlies on board who have medical experience. For the last couple months they have been evaluating their skills against modern medical knowledge while I worked here. They have offered absolutely no care during my stay, only watching and learning. They have discovered that in most ways, they are sorely lacking, but not in everything."

"Three hundred medical staff with World War 2 levels of medical knowledge." Her gaze shifted from me to the fairy doctor on her desk. "Are you civilian trained, or military trained?"

This was a question we knew would come up. "I'll answer for him. The doctors are all civilian trained. Most of the orderlies and nurses are military trained."

Doctor Bailey said "Hey!" and gave a thumbs up while nodding.

The director nodded. "Still, it will take years for you to brush up on your skills. But you know that. Why come to me now? No offense, but the medical needs of newborns are extremely different from the medical needs of battle-injured men."

"I did mention, director, that there were things that my doctors are confident that they are better at then human doctors."

The pen stopped bouncing on her leg, then resumed. "Go on. Explain."

"Fine dexterity work. Sutures. Working around veins and arteries. My doctor fairies see capillaries as being the size of major blood vessels."

"You can only make sutures so small before the tissue tears or the suturing material breaks."

Doctor Baily shook his head, then looked up at me, slight worry apparent in his expression. I smiled down at him. "I know doctor, I'll say it correctly, I promise."

"My doctors have absolutely not performed any surgery on humans, other than emergency surgery on the victims of the Abyssal attack on the pier where I was summoned. That said, they have been practicing - on rabbits I've been buying from pet stores."

The Director blinked, then nodded and leaned back in her chair again. "More details. Quickly, please."

"Even though their sutures are incredibly fine by human standards, roughly as fine as spider thread, they are resilient. Strong enough to reattach the leg tendons of rabbits and allow the animals to use them as soon as they recover consciousness. In addition, organ, artery, and heart muscle tissues that fairy doctors suture do not tear open over time. We have many post-surgical living rabbits that we are monitoring for problems, and many more frozen rabbit cadavers that can also be reviewed."

Once again, the director leaned forward. "Suturing and fine manual dexterity work are not the most important part of surgical medicine. Doctors have to understand what they see. No two patients are the same." She stopped momentarily, then continued. "You might start a surgery and discover something completely unexpected, which would then lead to an immediate need for a high degree of medical education to make a decision that might be a life-or-death choice for the patient. Your doctors don't have that degree of education. Not in the modern world."

I agreed. "We do not dispute that. None of my doctors believe they are sufficiently competent to handle any complex surgery." I paused intentionally. "Without supervision."

The director clearly understood my point immediately. "Without supervision, you say? So, what you are proposing is that your fairy doctors would only do fine manual surgical procedures at the direction of other, better trained human doctors?"

"Yes, Director, at least for several years, or until my fairy doctors can update their medical knowledge to current standards. Even then, there are times that larger bodies and greater reach can be useful, so we do not imagine any time at which fairy doctors would not be working with humans."

"You said that there were humans that your doctors treated after an Abyssal attack on a pier? Was that the attack in Newport News a couple months ago?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"And you have living and frozen animal studies of the work of your fairy doctors?"

I nodded again. "Yes, Director."

She leaned forward and looked at Doctor Bailey, pointing her pen at him unthreateningly. "And you and your fellow doctors are willing to take direction, and do as you are told?"

As I started to answer, Director Stevens shushed me. "No. I want his response."

"Understood, ma'am." I remained silent after that comment, so Doctor Bailey could provide an answer.

She turned her eyes back to Doctor Bailey. "Nod for yes, or shake your head for no."

Doctor Bailey nodded, calmly meeting the director's eyes.

"I'm going to have to go to the hospital director with this. I will not authorize it on my own. We will need to find some of the victims of that attack and review their medical records. If they were treated at the beach for significant wounds, someone should have noted the work in the records. We will also want to see the rabbits, both frozen and live. I will have them dissected by qualified surgeons to verify the skill of your fairy doctors. Before we let them assist with any human surgery, we will watch your doctors perform surgical procedures on living rabbits. All of these things will take time."

"Gail Anderson does not have much time, director." I whispered.

The director stared at me, comprehension clear in her eyes. "I see. Her condition is worsening, it is true. However, that does not mean we can abdicate our responsibilities to perform medicine ethically." She pointed at Doctor Bailey with her pen again. "Your doctor fairies may well be God's gift to fine dexterity surgical procedures, but I'm not going to allow them to touch a patient until we can review their work and see them doing live procedures on living animals."

I sighed loudly, then apologized. "I'm sorry to-"

The director waved her hand, dismissing my apology. "No need for that." She pointed with her pen at Doctor Bailey. "It's clear that even if he is a doctor, you are not, but you clearly have decision-making powers. You wanted me to keep this quiet. The quieter I keep it, the longer it will take for me to make it happen. The more people I can bring in, the faster we can evaluate the skills of your fairies."

Dry-washing my hands, I considered my only viable option before I said what needed to be said. "Do what you have to, but please try to only bring in people who can keep secrets."

"Lace, if this works, and your doctors and their skills are anything close to what you have advertised, your secret won't last long. Any complex procedure that would benefit strongly from what your doctors are offering will have at least six individuals in the operating room, at least four of them non-doctors. The hospital directors and most of the doctors will keep your secrets, but the nurses and orderlies tend to gossip. Especially about strange things."

There was the sound of squealing metal, and I suddenly realized I'd clenched my fists while they were gripping the tubular metal arms of the chair.

The director jumped slightly in her chair, then her eyes met mine. After a moment, she spoke slowly, gently. "This is clearly stressful for you. I'll keep your secret and let you go on your way if you like, and never mention this to anyone else. But if you choose for me to keep your secret, I'll have to ask you to leave the employ of this hospital. Knowing what you are, and what your doctors might be able to do, but not being able to ask you for that help would distract me to no end. Especially when patients that you and yours might have helped do not survive."

I looked at the damage I'd done to the chair arms. "I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's a chair. I can get another." She smiled. "Or keep it as something to show my grandchildren after your secret finally comes out."

The director leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers below her chin. "Now, make your decision, Lace. Do I keep your secret, and you leave the hospital? Do I slow-walk this with as much secrecy as I can, and hope that Gail lives long enough for your doctors to help us help her? Or do I walk upstairs in ten minutes and speak to the hospital director and work with her to put some resources into making this happen as quickly as we can? We'll try to keep your secret, but no matter what we do, I guarantee it will be a rumor in a month, on the outside, and public knowledge in six months or less."

Looking down at the desk, I saw that Doctor Bailey had turned away from the director and was staring at me, very seriously. I sighed and reached forward, lightly tapping him on the head with a fingertip. "You knew this was going to happen like this, didn't you? I didn't have a chance."

Then I shifted my attention to Director Stevens. "Damn the torpedos. Full speed ahead. I'd appreciate as much secrecy as you can manage, but I can't make any other choice."

Director Stevens smiled. "Good. I hope that what you are offering lives up to expectations, but we'll know for sure within a few days. Gail should survive at least a few days, hopefully, long enough to allow us to try to save her. Ethically."

As I provided the director with my home address and phone number, I lifted Doctor Bailey to my shoulder. He sat there watching the two of us talk, and I could hear him whistling very faintly to himself, clearly in high spirits.


	35. Chapter 27: Return of the Big Guns

Captain Solomon stared slack-jawed at the woman waiting patiently at the back of his bridge—of _her_ bridge. He couldn't tear his eyes off her for a heartbeat, but he knew everyone else on the bridge was staring too. But, graceful old starlet that she was, Mo didn't seem to mind the gawking attention. She stood politely, patiently, her hands folded behind her back and her feet planted firmly on the deck.

She was everything Solomon'd expected, and everything he hadn't. She was massive. So tall and strapped with amazonian muscle she made her own bridge seem like a dollhouse staffed with Lilliputian sailors. Without saying a word her very presence commanded the total attention and reverent awe of all everyone on the bridge.

Her eyes were hidden by red-lenses shades that mirrored back the bridge crews' stares. Her hair fell to the small of her back in a bundle of dreadlocks as black as coal. Her skin was tanned to a beautiful milky chocolate. Tattoos both elegant and brutal in their simplicity exploded from the rough-torn sleeves of her NWU blouse and multi-layered shorts, framing her musculature with intricate Polynesian motifs.

A flash hood was tucked around her neck, and a plate carrier who's true color had long since faded into the grime of constant hard fighting bulged over a chest both lithe and eminently feminine. The corner of her mouth twitched into a grin, and Solomon realized he'd been staring for what felt like hours.

"Sorry," coughed the captain a little sheepishly. "You… you really let Hawaii get to you, huh?"

Mo shrugged her massive shoulders, idly hooking her thumb over the buckle of her gunbelt. Solomon recognized the pistols hanging from her broad hips. Desert Eagles. Nickel-plated and fitted with scopes. He'd shot one a while back. Damn thing barely fit his hand and tried its hardest to escape the moment he pulled the trigger.

On her, they looked perilously close to toys.

"Twenty years sunbathing changes a girl," said Mo. Her voice was kind, but with a rough, rumbling undertone that was more felt in the chest than heard. "Besides…" she idly tugged on the wrist of her fingerless Nomex glove. "It's the twenty-first century now. This is what you—" she glanced around the bridge generally—"think a badass looks like now."

"The Rock," Holland chuckled, earning a casual shrug from the mighty Iowa. Solomon could see the resemblance, but he was certain the wrestler would look like a feeble grade-schooler next to the super battleship.

"Sir," Mo took a few steps closer, slipping her shades off and tucking them into a bit of webbing on her vest. Solomon almost wished she hadn't. Looking into the mirrored scarlet lenses of her shades was unnerving, but staring into her brilliant red eyes was downright terrifying. They burned like angry coals, hauntingly beautiful and mortifyingly intense all the same. "There's… something I need to ask."

Solomon put a hand on his battleship's waist. He felt her muscles tense under the worn fabric of her blouse and realized how absurd his action had been. Here he was, a mere mortal man trying to comfort the mightiest battleship the world had ever seen. "If… you haven't realized it yet… you're dead." She slid back on her heel, turning to the bridge generally, "You all are."

Solomon knew it was true the moment he heard her say it. Mo's bridge took hit square on the wing in her last battle. He hadn't put the thought into words, but from the moment he woke up in this plane of ice he knew he was dead. The rest of the crew seemed to agree. There were no arguments, no gasps of shock or dismay. Just quiet acceptance.

"You fought so hard," said Missouri, hands folded behind her back now. "I couldn't have asked for a better crew." She closed her mouth, gaze drifting from face to face as the tried to find words that just wouldn't come

"You all deserve to rest eternal," she said at last. "I know I've got no right to…" she trailed off. "They have Pearl."

Solomon nodded. He couldn't know that, but he did.

"They're… desecrating _Arizona's_ …" The Iowa grit her teeth. "I've been here before," she glanced out at the infinite white caging her hull. "After the war, after Korea, after 'nam, after the Gulf… the locker. Where ships wait until they're needed again. I've flirted with the long night, but this isn't…"

Solomon put a hand on her shoulder.

"We don't have time for that," Mo squared her shoulders and stood tall. "Pearl doesn't have time for that. I don't have time for that. They need me now, and if I'm gonna make it I need all hands on deck. So I'm asking. Stay. Fit me for combat."

"Of course," said Solomon.

"For you, Mo," said Holland, "Saint Peter can take a number."

The battleship's lips twitched in a smile.

"Captain!" a lookout on the bridge wing shouted. How she'd torn her eyes off the amazon standing front-and-center long enough to do her job was a mystery Solomon doubted he'd ever understand. "There's… something! Approaching on the ice."

"What?" Solomon bolted to the bridge wing, hastily snatching the lookout's binoculars.

"Twenty degrees off the stern. Maybe… a hundred yards distant."

Solomon nodded, squinting through the glass. There was something approaching on the ice, or more accurately someone. Figures, indistinct but unmistakably human, marched along the frozen wastes towards the imprisoned battleship, heading for her vast stern. "Get a marine detachment aft," barked Solomon. "And—" He glanced behind him. Mo was gone, vanished from the bridge without a sound. "Where?"

"I'm on my fantail sir," came a mostly disembodied contralto echoing for the mighty battleship's helipad.

—|—|—

Shinano's eyes were milky white. Indistinct spheres focused generally on something far beyond the horizon and twitching every so often seemingly at random. It was a strange experience. To have one's consciousness, one's very spirit take flight on fragile aluminum wings and leave one's body behind. No surface warship could quite understand it. Well, except for maybe sister Sara.

"Razgris surget iterum."

Shinano smiled. She could hear Akagi singing to herself over the crash of waves below and the roar of air-cooled radials in the skies above. Akagi's voice really was beautiful. Maybe not as sweet and nurturing as White's, but still.

She glanced to the east, feeling a minor respite from the bitter cold when raw sunlight filtered against her cheeks. The skies were clear. She hadn't expected otherwise. Pearl might have fallen, but the rest of the island was still contested. And American defenders had the advantage of excellent maps to plan their artillery barrages. Shinano doubted if there was so much as a paper airplane left in the Abyssals' hangers.

Still though. She was flying air defense. It was her only job, the only job her ill-trained pilots could accomplish. But it was _her_ job, and she was going to do it with everything she could manage.

"Flak tower," grunted Kaga. The monstrous air-defense blockhouses had been cropping up over occupied territory like mold on a soggy bagel. They bristled with flak guns of every caliber, their massive steel-reinforced concrete walls were impervious to anything a carrier plane could haul into the air.

"Copy," said Akagi, her voice suddenly very terse.

"Mmm," Shinano nodded. She didn't begrudge her elders for being a bit on edge. Every reassurance in the world was just empty words in the face of a dozen eighty-eights. But Shinano wasn't worried. She'd played too much SOCOM to worry. The SEALs had gotten the job done.

"Brace," said Kaga. Evidently, she lacked the littlest Yamato's confidence. Shinano felt Akagi's squadrons tense beside her, and even she steeled herself for the oncoming barrage. But it never came. No guns barked in the dawn gloom, no searchlights stabbed into the sky. The batteries were silent as the grave.

Shinano smiled. "T-told you," she said quietly.

—|—|—

Besides the assembled Marines with their M-16s, there were nearly a dozen men standing ready on Mo's helipad when Solomon arrived. All were bundled against the cold with sturdy coats and scarves, and at there head was a man Solomon recognized instantly. Or rather, a man Solomon knew he should recognize instantly. He couldn't place it, but the moment he laid eyes on the man with the short ponytail and cocked hat he _knew_ he'd seen him before.

"Ah, Captain," said the man with a rolling Scottish brogue and a graceful sweep of his hat. "It's an honor to be aboard your…" he glanced up at Mo's towering presence hovering just a few feet away, "Magnificent ship."

"Of course," said Solomon, glancing between the old Scotsman and the giddy smirks worn my Mo and her marines alike. "Captain…"

"Jones, sir," Jones offered a hand.

Solomon's eyes went wide as he shook the man's hand. "You mean?"

"Aye," said captain John Paul Jones. He stared up at the flag waving from Mo's mast. The ragged, scored rag waving its tattered stripes in the gentle breeze. The flag was in ruins, but Solomon'd never been prouder of it. "You kept your colors flying?"

Solomon nodded. "Yes, sir. Would've had a mutiny on my hands if I ordered it struck."

Jones laughed, and so did his men. "The lads and I," he waved at the handful of assembled sailors, "heard you could use a few strong backs."

"Right," Solomon nodded again. "Uh, Chief, put Captain Jones and his men to work."

With the bark of an NCO, the old sailors jumped into action without hesitation, but Captain Jones hung back for a moment. "You've changed, miss."

It was impossible to tell with her tan, but it almost seemed like Mo blushed. "New war, new look."

"Aye," Jones laughed. "They finally did you in, did they."

"Not for long," said Mo. "Not for long."

—|—|—

The raider princess sank into the wine-dark waters of her frigid birthing dock. Her skin was pale as bone and slick with clammy sweat, her vast talons floated limply by her sides. Her newly-born demon clung to her, nursing greedily from her frozen teat while below her hips worked tirelessly with grinder and torch to repair the damage the long-delayed birth had caused.

No, not repair. Stay ahead of. Already her belly was swollen from the vast bounty of blood the island had already offered in tribute to its rightful conquers. She was full with child, and if her imps didn't at least bring the tattered shreds of her body back under control her next spawning would kill her.

It was worth it.

The princess smiled, blood trickling from the corner of her ashen lips. The fleet, the vast collection of demons spawned as much by her as by her sister lay anchored against the island. A row of mighty battleships. A grand new fleet ready to hunt.

"Sister," The snow queen waded into the blood-drenched waters of the princess's maternity ward. For what seemed like the first time since she'd steamed into this place, the abyssal matriarch stopped her breathless pursuit of renovation. Apparently, the harbor had finally been turned into a nursery worthy of the queen's high standards.

"Sister," the raider princess smiled. In truth, she would've been happy with half the effort. But her sister loved her dearly, that much she could appreciate. "I—"

Her words were drowned in a bloodcurdling screech. Air raid. She whipped her head around, shifting her gaze to the sentries she'd left posted on the Eastern flak batteries. When she cast her vision all she got was black. "No!" she roared. "That's not possible!"

—|—|—

"Corporal," Mo waved a Marine onto the bridge. He was a young man, with a round face that made him look still younger. "C'mere."

"Ma'am?" He gave her a confused look but did as asked.

"Think you can rig your iPod into the 1MC?" said the towering Iowa. "We've got a lot of work to be done. And… I spent enough time in the eighties to know when a montage is called for."

"Oh," the marine nodded. "Why me, ma'am?"

Missouri stood back to let him do his work. Over the decades of her long life, she'd picked up a thing or two about modern electronics. But she'd also had her age hammered into her. She was an ancient old woman, best to let the kids play with their toys. "I seem to recall you having an excellent library."

"Thank you, ma'am," said the marine with a blush.

"Got a playlist for us?"

He smiled. "I might." With the push of a button, Mo felt every compartment of her hull fill with the familiar chant-backed guitar solo. The thunder electrified her never and she couldn't help but puff out her chest and stand a little taller.

"Good choice."

—|—|—

Shinano was in awe. She'd practiced surface attacks before. She could—with effort and concentration—get a torpedo to hit where she wanted it. She could even get two or three planes to coordinate their efforts into more-or-less the same vector. Maybe four if she was lucky. She'd been rather proud of herself when she pulled off her first cross-drop.

But this…

This was magnificent.

Akagi and Kaga both cared nearly twice her planes, but you'd never have guessed it from the air. There wasn't a lick of confusion in the swarm of Ryusei. They flew not as torpedo bombers, but as the extension of a single unified will. Darting through air choked with burning fuel oil and bursting flak, always arriving right where they were needed without a second's delay.

Torpedoes stitched the shallow harbor with spray, cannon fire poured into flak batteries as ship after ship felt the wrath of the Imperial Japanese Navy reborn slam into its flanks. Already two of the abyssal super-battleships were vanquished. One split in two, each half sagging into the void left by its now-obliterated midships. Another heeled over, slumped against the harbor in a pile of twisted scrap.

Akagi and Kaga never stopped talking. Quick, terse commands passed from carrier to carrier without a moment's delay. Shinano couldn't even keep up, let alone parse what their arcane utterances met. But both fleet carriers seemed to know. Together they fought as one. With no hostile air threat materializing, Shinano had nothing to do but watch two virtuosos of death put on their command performance.

—|—|—

Battleship Missouri stood at the head of her own quarterdeck, staring back at the sailors filling it to capacity. Her crew. Her _last_ crew. All of it. She'd kept them here for so long. Offered them nothing but hard labor when they should by all rights be resting forever in glory.

And to a man, they'd taken her up on it. She didn't bother trying to hide the tears filling her eyes. "You've…" she trailed off and gathered her breath. "I was in service for seventy-three years," she said. "And not once did I have a better crew. Thank you."

Her captain smiled at her, a gloved hand slowly moving to his brow in solemn salute. "Give 'em hell, Mo."

Missouri matched his gesture. "Sir."

"I'll be watching," said her captain.

Mo couldn't hold it anymore. Tears streamed down her tanned cheeks. She closed her eyes, forcing back the warm salt. When she opened them again, she was alone on the infinite plane of white. Well, almost.

That was when she saw _him._ She couldn't make him out. Not quite. It was like looking at a drowning man through choppy, brackish water. A figure, a human shape, nothing more. But she _knew_ who he was. Knew it in a heartbeat.

Davy Jones. The warden of the locker.

"I need to go back," said Mo, trying to decide for herself if she was angry or desperate. "Please."

The warden stared at her for what felt like centuries.

"Please," begged the Iowa. "My friends, my countrymen… Arizona…"

The warden stood unmoved.

"Let me fight!" barked Mo, her blood rising in spite of herself. "It's what you want, right? A fight?"

The warden was silent. And then, with great pomp and circumstance, he turned around and looked pointedly in the other way.

Mo smiled. It wasn't an express offer of permission. But it would be enough. It'd have to be. The Iowa closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

 _She was the last battleship._

Mo felt her boilers sputter to life, flame filling their metal bellies. A raging strength filled her. She hadn't felt this mighty since her sea trials.

 _A relic in an age of miracles._

Her turbines purred like vast tigers. Her mighty screws slashed the frigid water, whipping it into a froth of punished foam.

 _An ancient childish thing._

She rolled her neck, feeling muscles pop into place as her fairy crew put their lessons into practice.

 _The last, lonely remnant of a bygone age._

Her radar flickered to life. Mo closed her eyes and saw everything.

 _A living legend from the age of the Big Gun._

Her hands balled to fists. Leather creaked as her fingers bit into her palms.

 _The mere news of her arrival drove her foes to despair._

She rolled her shoulders, feeling every muscle react to her slightest whim. She'd never felt this… alive before.

 _Even her herald accepted their surrenders._

Mo slammed her fists together, relishing the recoiling force she felt reverberate through her musclebound arms. She would use her strength—

 _She would set her course forwards—_

 **FOR FREEDOM.**

* * *

 **And now, a note from your Glorious Uploader!** Caboose here. Thanks for following and reviewing this story so far! How about that, things are picking up. I personally loved the omakes, but Jumper's actual writing (in addition to Old Iron) is very Free.

Now, this is important. I only _just_ returned to West Point, and I'm exhausted, but I wanted to get this out to you guys ( _never_ take red-eye flights if you can help it, you won't be able to fall asleep). If you just so happen to be waiting on my own personal works, be assured that I'm working on them. However, my current focus is on the Arpeggio of Blue Steel story titled "Midway", by "TheKitsuneLord12". It's a collab, just like between OldIron and theJUMPer on Space Battles forums. So _please_ , review it like you (hopefully) would do for my own stories. It's going places, and we've got quite a few good ideas!

...That's about what I wanted to say, so I'll just stop talking now. In the meantime, enjoy a special guest visit from Ari, who has agreed to do a Flapper dance...

"* **wait, what do you mean she refused?! The skirt we gave her was extra long! ...fine, we can put Hiei's request for a cooking channel through. Don't say I didn't warn you!** *"

...And there we have it folks! Sorry for the wait, but it seems Ari changed her mind!

Caboose out


	36. Chapter 28: A barely acceptable Standard

"Ooh, that looks like it hurt." Hiei winced as she watched the combat footage Shigure had sent her from the most recent patrol.

The Abyssal forces Shigure and company had encountered hadn't been anything special. Rather, they'd been spectacularly underwhelming so far as Hiei had observed from the footage. But they were still putting up a fight. That had led to Takao taking a shot to the face and giving a very painful showing of why the heavy cruiser had come home sporting a broken nose. Those were never any fun to deal with.

It was pretty easy to imagine the Abyssal laughing mockingly even as it died under a hail of 8-inch fire.

Still, the destroyer had felt something strange in that engagement. Something strange enough to request as many eyes on it as she could get even beyond the usual ones provided by the research and analysis teams.

Sailors tended to be the suspicious sort. Often with very good reason. So Hiei was more than willing to add an extra set.

A knock on the door pulled her attention away from the screen.

"Come in!" she hollered while pausing the video and taking her feet off the desk. Some level of professionalism had to be maintained.

The door opened and her eyes widened.

Well, this was a surprise.

"Pardon the intrusion." Pennsylvania's voice was slightly strained and Hiei could tell she was not likely here to invite her along to an ice cream social. At least not of her own free will.

"Consider it pardoned." Hiei grinned before gesturing to one of the chairs. Her office space wasn't all that big, but there was room enough for her to work and entertain a guest or two. Well, when she was actually in her office. "Come on, take a load off. What can I do for you?"

She gave a little mental cheer when Pennsylvania hesitated but ultimately took the offered seat.

"So, what's up?"

"I'd like to ask how Ari is doing."

Hiei blinked.

"Akashi wouldn't tell you?" she queried. That was odd.

"She kicked me out of the docks. Claimed I was in the way and being a nuisance." Pennsylvania huffed and crossed her arms. "I was no such thing. I was waiting patiently well out of her way and of her helpers. The moment she laid eyes upon me, she gave me the boot. Almost literally."

Hiei let out a snort of laughter, but managed to reign herself in when she saw Pennsylvania's gaze narrow irritably. It was a hilarious image. To her at least. ...And probably anyone who wasn't the red-haired standard sitting across from her.

"You find it funny?" Pennsylvania's voice was edged with heated ire.

"Well, kinda. Ever heard the stories of Ooyodo? The One True Lord of Logistics?" There was the understatement of the year. At Pennsy's slow nod, she smirked. "Akashi's kinda the same when it comes to repairs and refits, just more mobile and not reliant on coffee."

"I will keep that in mind..." She winced before returning to a more serious demeanor. "Do you know anything?"

Hiei folded her hands behind her head and leaned back.

"Ari's doing fine. It's just taking so long because of the torpedoes. Whatever you want to say about their doctrine, they're a pain in the ass to deal with. Never even had the chance to think about using them in the first place." She snorted. "I sure don't miss having them. That's for sure."

Pennsylvania released an audible breath.

"That is good to know." Her glimmer of relief turned into an expression of resigned irritation. Something Hiei was fairly certain was the battleship's most frequently used look by now. That and roaring fury.

"I'll have to suffer that as well, won't I."

"It's easier to count the battleships that don't. So, yeah. Unfortunately, since you came back stock, you're stuck."

Pennsylvania turned away and let out a curse.

Hiei could see where Pennsylvania was coming from. She hadn't been pleased to discover her refit had taken so much longer thanks to those things. That was a lot of time lost. Heck, she was absolutely positive there wasn't a battleship around that was pleased about being in that situation.

After some time to let Pennsylvania vent and finally cool off, she leaned forward to lock eyes with the standard. Such vicious, red eyes. So very different from the others she'd seen.

"So, what's on your mind?"

There was hardly any reason for Pennsy to entertain small talk with her after getting what she wanted. Not unless there was something larger on her mind. Something that went outside what counted as the norm for her.

"With the Admiral and Lieutenant Commander unavailable at the moment, you seemed to be the next best option. And this is something I do not think can wait."

Hiei arched an eyebrow.

Oookay...

"Why come to me though?"

"Because between you and that... traffic cone, I would rather suffer your inane banter and teasing when bringing this up." Pennsylvania stated rather bluntly.

Well, ouch. That was mean. At least it was a step up from wishing everyone a horrible, fiery death.

"Speaking frankly, I want to train Yamashiro and Mutsu."

What.

In the name of SECNAV, what.

The shock and disbelief must have shown on her face because Pennsylvania growled and continued.

"We do not have a cohesive fleet. Sasebo is functional at best. But it is not any better than that. Including myself and Ari, there are four vastly different classes of battleship here. I won't even touch on how horrible our cruiser situation is." She drew in a breath and ground out the last statement. "The only ships here that come close to being acceptable are the destroyers. And only barely."

Ah. So that's how it was.

"You're preaching to the choir, you know. It only gets worse when we mix and match support borrowed from other bases." Looking back on it, Hiei considered it a miracle she'd survived the encounter with Tosa. "We're on thin ice here. With the summoning drying up and being fickle as it is, having what we do is amazing enough."

"Then let me help."

"How?"

"Let me teach Mutsu and Yamashiro how to fight in a battle line. A s _tandard_ battle line." Pennsylvania leaned forward. "They're the only ones here who can."

"Why not me?" She had a feeling she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from Pennsy's mouth. So there would be no confusion as to her intentions.

"You are the exact opposite of what is needed. You're fast, lightly armored, and don't have enough power to stand in the line." Those red eyes did not waver in the slightest. Good. "You're better off hunting convoys and performing escort duty where your... shortcomings are less of a liability and almost an asset to draw fire while the other ships can make the kills."

Starting to hit below the belt there, Pennsy.

"Those two at least have the armor to stand in the line. And the reduced speed won't be an issue for either of them. Yamashiro comes close to having the throw weight and Mutsu has enough power to make up for the lack of volume. Their anti-air capacity is worrisome, but with a good screen it should not be as much of an issue."

Pennsylvania was growing more impassioned as she spoke. Enough for Hiei to realize the standard was speaking without anything clouding her words. These were words lacking any sort of motive beyond improving the capability of the fleet. None of the usual vitriol painted her tone.

"But can you pull this off with only four battleships?" If memory served, there had been almost a dozen standards put to sea. "And no matter how well you train them, those two will never be able to fill in for a real standard. I don't doubt their capability. But they weren't built for that role."

She tapped her finger on the desk and frowned.

"Hell, there were times we had trouble pulling off the roles we were built for." Dammit doctrine. Why did you have to suck so much?

Pennsylvania's smile sent a chill down her spine.

"That won't be an issue."

"Eh?"

"There are benefits even when the overall capability of the line is reduced to account for the lowest common denominator." Pennsylvania drew a line on the desk with her finger to accentuate her point. "The line can compensate. We cover each others' weaknesses and enhance our strengths. This doctrine is slow, but it is powerful. And it only grows the more you add to it."

Hiei pursed her lips and brought a hand to her chin. It certainly sounded good. It worried her greatly that they had so few ships though. They needed more battleships to get the most out of this plan. Ideally more standards. Or at least Fusou and Nagato. But those were nearly impossible at the moment. Nagato because she was the flagship of Goto's fleet and Fusou because she hadn't been summoned yet.

But at the same time, it would introduce a cohesiveness that Sasebo simply didn't have. Even if they couldn't employ it they way Pennsylvania was suggesting, it would improve teamwork by leaps and bounds.

"What do you think?"

"Well, I'm a little irritated Ari never thought of bringing this up." Or if her friend and rival had thought of it, she probably had good reason not to voice it.

"My sister is a good student. Not necessarily a good teacher." Pennsylvania frowned. "I imagine any attempts on her part to bring this up in the past would not have ended in success."

She wasn't wrong on the latter, that was for certain. Having fewer numbers wouldn't have helped either.

"Well, it sounds good on paper." Hiei clasped her hands together on the desk. "What would you need to make it good in reality. It's not my call to make, but I can get this to John and Mutsu pretty darn quick."

She couldn't tell whether that smile was now happy or bloodthirsty. It was legitimately hard to tell. It suited Pennsy. But still, it was a little unnerving.

"I would need all participating battleships to move into the dorms. All next to each other at that. And to adhere to the same schedule when it is reasonable to do so. Deployments should always take higher priority."

"Hmm..." Well, this could get difficult. Really difficult really fast.

"I am well aware of the limitations regarding Mutsu, but she has not yet failed to fulfill her duty despite her condition."

That was true. That was very true. No one would like it, but they didn't have to. Sure, it helped if they did. And painting it in the right light would help quite a lot. Or she was overthinking it and they'd all jump on the idea without complaint.

Yeah. Ten to one, she was overthinking it.

"It'll have it to them by dinnertime."

"Truly?"

Hey now. She was a goof, but she still did her job and adhered to her word.

"Well, obviously. Even if we can't make the most of it right now, I think we need something to help get us working together better sooner than later." She chuckled. Who would have thought it was the most volatile and prejudiced warship of them all to try to bring them all together.

"I... appreciate it. I really do." The grumpy Pennsy was starting to make its return, slowly overshadowing the unfettered woman who had been selling the boons of the standard battle line. "I may not... take enjoyment in working with you. But I would rather live and win over these monsters by fighting side by side than die to them alone."

Hiei laughed. Even if she never saw this side of Pennsylvania again, she'd keep this memory close.

"I like living too. Lots of things to do. Lots of things to look forward to." She leaned back and smiled. "I intend to get through this war and live my second chance to the fullest."

Pennsylvania gave a mild scowl.

"It seems as though you do so already."

"Not even close, Pennsy." Perhaps she enjoyed the disbelieving and slightly horrified look on Pennsylvania's face a bit too much. So much like Ari when she wasn't blanketed in anger. "When that last Abyssal goes to the bottom, you'll see just how much I've been holding back."

"I would rather not."

"You'll probably hear about it from Ari anyway." Pennsylvania's suffering groan brought a mirth-filled smile to her face. Even fun to tease like her sister. "Want to go over this combat footage if you're not doing anything?"

"Pardon?"

"Shigure says something was 'not quite right' about the enemy they encountered. She's got everyone and their dog looking at it." She thumbed over at her monitor where the still paused video resided.

"Only if you cease going out of your way to irritate me."

"I'll try?"

Pennsylvania swore under her breath but moved her chair around so she could see the screen regardless.

"Hey, Pennsy?"

"What?"

"Do you have Ashigara's number?"

"Why?"

"Because Jintsuu pointed out I was kinda being a jerk to her, so I want to apologize." Which was true. So, she'd have to make up for it. In the most infuriatingly Kongou-like manner possible. She wouldn't be a Kongou if she didn't.

A wicked smile crept over her lips as Pennsylvania scribbled the digits into a scrap of paper.

 _Excellent_ ~

* * *

Uploader's Note: Well, we didn't get to see Ari do a Flapper dance, but Pennsy doing Standard things should make up for that! Next time on Cute Warships doing Cute Things, Hiei will present a myriad of simple yet tasty meals! Look forward to it folks.

...

Well, that aside, I've got bad news. I've been holding on to this update for a while now, hoping to have some content in reserve. Short of other Omakes, this is the LAST content from Jumper in a while, and I've looked across several sites. If you have read a good omake on the forums that *have not* been put up yet (on here or on Belated Battleships) then let me know, so I can then ask for permission and upload onto here for the rest of y'all to enjoy.

In the meantime, I will work on my stories (and college, can't forget the college).

Caboose Out


	37. DLWAOI: Why can't I hold my Standards?

**Daily life with Admiral** **Old Iron**

 **Chapter 1: Why can't I hold all my standards?**

* * *

"Wake up," a voice sliced through the haze clouding Iron's half-asleep mind like butter rent by a hot sledgehammer. It was a kind voice, soft and feminine. But unquestionably strong and almost inhumanly imperious. Like a kind schoolmarm offering a gold star and bowl of sweets with one hand and a wicked switch with other.

"Muh." Was the most eloquent thing the sleeping programmer could manage. It Saturday. Morning. Probably. It was… he could barely open his eyes and he certainly couldn't get them to focus, so he settled on assuming it was "early" o-clock.

"Now now," said another voice. One identical in timbre and inflection to the first, but at the same time unmistakably different. Sweeter, gentler, without the face-hardened edge of the first. "He's had a long day."

"That's no excuse," said the first voice. It scowled audibly—Iron didn't know that was possible—and trailed off in a huff.

"Let him sleep a while longer, Oakie should have breakfast ready soon."

With what little cognitive ability his still sleep-shrouded mind could bring to bear, Iron idly wondered when he'd purchased such a talkative alarm clock. And what possessed past him into thinking that would be a good financial decision. However, he could agree that sleeping for a little bit longer felt like a grand idea.

"He's slept long enough!" Said the first voice with a snap.

Right, he had to hit the snooze button. Slowly, a hand reached out of the covers and Iron reached for his nightstand. He managed to find the corner with the fleshy part of his wrist and a muffled yelp of surprised pain slipped past his lips. But at least he had a reference point. If the corner was _there_ , than his alarm should be—

"Goodness!" It was the second voice, but with a startled shriek that almost kept Iron from noticing how soft and squishy his alarm clock had gotten. And how warm. And round. And how it faintly smelled of vanilla and heavy fuel oil.

Instantly his eyes slammed and slewed wildly to his outstretched hand. Standing beside his bed with her face nearly as red as her shoulder-length hair and smartly tied neckerchief was a girl. A woman, really. She couldn't have been much more than five and a half feet tall, but her plump face was—schoolgirl blush notwithstanding—looked developed and mature. Her chubby figure was the very definition of matronly, and her pronounced bosom…

..was currently being fondled by Iron in his attempt to find the snooze button.

"Please," said the other voice with icy calm. Its owner could've been the first girl's twin. Or failing that, her sister. This one had her hair up in a folded-over ponytail, and the look on _her_ face was far more aggressive than the first. "Remove your hand from my sister's upperworks."

Iron had the distinct impression that failure to do so would cause certain parts of his anatomy to telescope into other parts of his anatomy that they were not intended to telescope into. He hastily removed his hand from the first girl's chest and slipped it back under the covers with a hasty apology. "Sorry," he said honestly.

The first girl somehow found another shade of red to blush and vanished out of the room as fast as her stocky legs could carry her.

"It's best," said the second girl, rolling her sleeve up an arm that bristled with enough corded muscle to make Popeye the sailor man hang his head in shape. "That you don't remember this."

Before Iron could ask any of the many clarifying questions that were on his mind, the girl balled her hand into a fist and brought it straight down on the crown of his head like she was swinging a hammer. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was a strange desire to repaint everything he owned the same shade of gray.

—|—|—

"Gooood Morning, Admiral." A quiet voice, barely more than a murmured whisper roused him from his bed. Iron blinked back into the land of the living, rubbing at a throbbing bump on the crown of his head as he slowly propped himself up on his elbow.

"Wha?" He grunted, glancing at the girl standing by the foot of his bed. She wasn't what anyone would call tall, but she was certainly big. Wide and curvy, and more stacked than the frankly implausible pile of syrup-drenched pancakes on the tray she was holding.

"I made you breakfast," Said the girl, her distinctly native features still and while not quite gloomy, at least lightly speckled with clouds. Her bobbed chestnut hair was decorated with a single feather, and she seemed delicate in a way her solid build belied. She was standing firm before his sleepy gaze, but he got the distinct impression that she was close to the limit of her abilities. "I hope you like it," she added.

Iron blinked, staring at the busty and frankly beautiful woman at the foot of his bed. "Who are you," he asked, "and why are you in my house?"

The girl blushed nervously and glanced at her fingertips. "Isn't it… I'm the battleship Oklahoma. And I've been sent here to live with you."

* * *

 _ **Uploader's Note: "**_ Well, why CAN'T he hold all his Standards?" "Because they'll break something you'll need if you try, silly."

Needless to say, I was really surprised when this came out. It's by Old Iron, who pretty much wrote half of this story. Perhaps it will serve to motivate Jumper; if you didn't realize, he's been slowing down for reasons I can only guess. (Nevermind that I'm a hypocrite for not updating my OWN stories that often...)

Review! (And maybe we will get a Flapper-dancing Ari like I had hoped...)


	38. Chapter 29: Late to the Party

"No," the word rattled out on the back of a horrified gasp. The raider princess was frozen in the blood-choked waters of her birthing dock, staring in eyeless horror at the unthinking massacre befalling her demons. Her fleet was burning. Her fortress, her precious island was _desecrated_ by traitors from beyond the grave.

"No!" She roared in fury, carving deep bloody ribbons down new newborn's back with her massive unthinking talons. How _dare_ they devastate her island like this! How _dare_ they bring down the whirlwind upon her throne. She arched her back, screaming in rage through gnashing teeth. Her newborn all but fell off her breast, its still-soft talons tearing into her pallid flesh in a desperate attempt to keep its position at her icy teat. "Stop them!" she roared, thrusting a talon at the hateful red-marked airplanes systematically obliterating all she'd worked so hard to build with cold, uncaring efficiency.

"Sister!" She heard the snow queen's voice a thousand miles away, too enraged to devote more than a fraction of her attention to even her beloved sister.

"They're destroying _my throne!_ " Roared the princess with a righteous hatred. How dare they stoop so low!

"Sister!" A loud crash of metal brought her back to her senses. Her sister was standing over her, hip-deep in the wine-dark waters of the birthing dock with her eyeless face twisted into a look of pure… terror. Yes, it was terror. Not hatred, not anger, but pure untempered fear. "We must leave _now_."

"But," The princess glanced at the demon still greedily nursing at her breast. The last demon she still had under her command. The last of her once-grand armada.

"Leave it!" The snow queen grabbed her sister by the arm, hauling her out of the dock with all the power her turbines could manage. "We can't let anything slow us down!"

The princess glanced at her demon. The fruit of her womb that'd she'd birthed mere hours before. The last of her children still above the waves. How could she leave it? She was a princess, and that nobility _demanded_ an entourage. A fleet to follow her every command. "My fleet—"

The snow queen wheeled around. Shoving the demon into the water without a thought, she grabbed her sister's eyeless face with both massive talons and hauled it close for a long, wet kiss. Her bosom swelled against the princess' and for the briefest of heartbeats, the hell around them faded to nothing. A moment later, the snow queen pulled away, her chest heaving with hot, desperate breaths as a single strand of slowly-freezing saliva linked the royal sisters. "I can't lose you," she confessed. "Not again."

The princess nodded, her last demon vanishing from her thoughts like smoke before a great wind. "Of course," She shoved her demon from her chest with one hand, holding it beneath the water until its desperate attempts to return to claw back to its mother stilled while she buttoned her greatcoat up with the other.

The two battleships steamed for the mouth of the harbor, screws beating with desperate fury as they shouldered through ice-choked waters. But in the back of her mind, the princess knew it was futile. Birthing such a grand and glorious armada—let alone feeding her newborns and their crews—had exhausted her. Her bunkers were all but depleted, and even if her sister was willing to share what supplies she had… where would they go?

"The Forsaken Empress," said her sister, clearly working through the same thoughts herself. "We got to her."

The princess shot her sister a look. The empress was a myth, a legend spoken of in hushed tones even by her fellow princesses and queens. But… her sister seemed convinced. Still, the princess scowled at her charts, measuring the great distance from her island throne to the empress' mythical lair. "That's three thousand miles way."

"We'll make it," said the snow queen.

"If we do," gasped the princess, "She can't—"

"She does," said the snow queen. "And more."

—|—|—

On the other side of the world, a tall, slim battleship named Hood briefly shifted into ultrasonic and nearly crushed her phone in her hand. "Yes!" she roared, her natural Scottish brogue overpowering the upper-class English accent that normally flavored her curt diction.

Under normal circumstances, she'd appalled at such a blatant display of unalloyed emotion by one of the Queen's own battleships. Doubly so now that her task-force contained Achilles from New Zealand and a smattering of the seemingly endless tide of destroyers American admirals couldn't give away fast enough. It was critical that a lady of war set a proper example for the Colonials, especially impressionable young ships like the _Fletchers_ after all.

But this wasn't any normal circumstance. The Americans and Japanese had brought the Almighty's own sledgehammer down on the demon that'd haunted her dreams for months. _Bismark_ , or some shadowy echo of her, was _running scared_.

"Miss Hood?" Achilles smirked at the towering—and normally oh-so-regal—battlecruiser. It was funny to see the pride of the Royal Navy let the royal mask slip a bit, but the cruiser didn't judge her for it one bit. For every man, woman, and ship in the Royal Navy, today was a good day.

"She's running!" Hood grabbed Achilles with by the shoulders. "She's running!" Before the cruiser could react, Hood pulled her in for a sloppy kiss square on the lips. Achilles was quite sure she'd _still_ be blushing when she finally went home to New Zealand.

—|—|—

"Two ships," said Shinano. Her voice was quiet, but the natural thundering timber of the littlest Yamato boomed over Akagi and Kaga's running commentary. Her milky-eyed stare wandered in the general direction of New Jersey, and the American super-heavy could tell Shinano was splitting off a small fragment of herself to keep with her body while the majority of her mind was in the skies above Pearl. "Heading for the mouth of the harbor."

 _"_ _Which ones!"_ demanded Prinz Eugen over the radio. The heavy cruiser's accent was even thicker than usual, and so bloodthirsty it sounded almost draconic over the crackling feed. Jersey couldn't blame her. If those had been _American_ ships, she would've been beyond insane with rage.

"The Queen," said Shinano, "and her queen."

 _"_ _If we close the range,"_ said Prinz Eugen desperately, _"_ _We could—"_

 _"_ _No."_ Alaska's voice was quiet, calm, and utterly unquestionable. Prinz Eugen might be an overbuilt cruiser with a bustline that would've punched the London Naval Treaty's one-way ticket to a padded cell, but Alaska was near twice her weight.

 _"_ _But—"_ Prinz Eugen's voice cracked in desperate rage.

"Listen to 'laska," ordered Jersey. "You're in no shape to engage a heavy. Shadow them on radar only."

 _"_ _Copy,"_ said Alaska. It took Prinz Eugen a moment longer to signal her acknowledgment.

"Jersey," Shinano's voice was quizzical. "There's…"

"What?" barked the Iowa.

"I don't… there's something in the water," said Shinano. "At the eastern end of battleship row. It's… too thick with oil and ice for me to… I _think_ it's a ship."

"And?" said Jersey, her voice taut with… she didn't even know. Worry, hope? Somewhere in-between?

"The water's too murky for me to see," said Shinano. "But it's moving south—south-west. Fast. Maybe… thirty, thirty-five knots?"

Jersey felt a knot tie in her stomach. Thirty-five knots? It was just an estimate, an estimate from planes orbiting high over a running battle looking through murky oil-stained water. But still… _thirty-five knots._ "Ju—" Jersey felt her voice crack. "Just the one?"

Shinano nodded. "Ye—no. No, there's two. Definitely two of them. Going for the surface."

Jersey breathed a prayer to anyone who might be listening, hoping against hope with each nervous breath. "Please," she muttered. "Shina, what are they… do you have an ID?"

"They're breaching the surface," said Shinano. And then she just squealed with joy for almost a minute straight. Her hands balled up into fists that she pumped furiously in triumph.

"Are they!" Jersey demanded, a smile on her face already.

"Yes!" said Shinano. "Yes! Yes! Two Iowas!"

"Ha!" Jersey was too happy to even curse. She threw her fist in the air and screamed to the sky. Her sisters were back! Back at last! "Mo!" She pressed two fingers to her ear. "Mo, Wisky, are you there?"

 _"_ _Jerjer, good to hear your voice again,"_ crackled a smokey voice as smooth and dark as warm molasses.

"Goddammit, Mo!" Jersey said, feeling hot tears flow down her face as she laughed. "You know I hate that name!"

 _"_ _I'm your little sister,"_ said Mo with an audible smirk. _"_ _I don't tease you I could get court-martialed."_

"She has a point," said Naka

"Naka, shut the fuck up." Jersey aimed an open-palmed swat at the tiny orange thorn in her side. "The adults are talking."

 _"_ _One of them, at least,"_ cackled Mo. *" _We're available for tasking—_ "

 _"_ _Both of us,"_ added a second voice. One as powerful and smokey as Mo's or Jersey's, but quieter and ever so slightly more reserved.

 _"—_ _but we're critically low on fuel right now."_

"Don't worry about it," said Jersey. "They can't get far. Support the invasion."

 _"_ _Wilco, out."_

Moments after the channel dropped, Jersey heard all three carriers gape in awe at… something. Their milk-white eyes went as wide as it was possible for a Japanese girl to get, and Kaga—freaking _Kaga_ of all people—almost dropped her bow into the water.

"What was that?" said Akagi with breathless awe.

 _"_ _That my friend,"_ said Mo, _"_ _Is a tomahawk."_

* * *

Uploader's Note: Ring Ring~. I called it.

Your wishes finally came true, and the story has updated with gusto! I personally advise you to visit the actual forums at SpaceBattles, just look up Belated Battleships 2 SpaceBattles. The comments there are too good to be handled and give...warning to JerJer of what to come. Most importantly, look forward to the next chapter, we finally get...well, I won't spoil it, but Jersey is in for a world of bright orange embarrassment and pain, and there's nothing she can do about it!

On the other hand, poor baby Abyssal. Perhaps we finally get Hoppou-chan, or some equivalent?

Review!


	39. Chapter 30: Twatter

Battleship Wisconsin brought a half-gloved hand to the small of her back and smiled as her fingers closed around the cool titanium of her tomahawk. She'd never had fingers before, nor had she ever had the chance to feel what the wickedly-sharp throwing axe felt like herself. It was exactly like what she'd dreamed it'd be like though.

She lifted the axe from its cradle, tossing it in the air only to catch it by the hilt. A few hundred yards ahead, Mo was steaming down the harbor with musclebound, tattooed arms spread wide. Her rifles thundered over her deck, dropping one-ton slugs to her left and right while her five-inch batteries hammered with tiny rage at anything remotely swastika-esque.

Wisky smiled. She wasn't like Mo. Or any of her sisters, really. Iowa the President's ship. Jersey the most decorated battleship in American history. Mo the movie star and Arizona's eternal guardian. She was just… Wisky. The littlest Iowa. Her only claim to fame was that one UAV incident, and even that wasn't much to brag about. She was far more proud that she got to call Iowa, Jersey, and Mo her sisters.

It didn't hurt that they tended to hog the limelight. Wisky'd never really gotten comfortable with the idea of being on television. She liked observing events with drones—ideally with a hot cup of cocoa in hand—not being _in_ them.

The littlest Iowa shrugged. All eyes were on Mo. Which was fine, because it meant she could do _this_ without getting embarrassed.

"Hadoken!" Wisky pulled her arm back and hurled her tomahawk with all her might. The axe spun from her hand a whirlwind of polished titanium death and heartbeats later exploded with a cough of a smoke-billowing rocket into the angry cruise-missile she knew and loved.

Jersey would _kill_ her for that. Wisky had to stifle a giggle. She was providing shore support! It was time to be a Professional Iowa. She brought her hand to her back, picking another ax and testing the weight in her hand.

"Wisconsin here," she said, hoping her voice sounded right. She'd never had a voice before, it didn't quite sound like she'd thought it would. Of course, you always sound different to yourself, right? "Where do you want the next one?"

 _"_ _Artillery battery,"_ crackled back the Marine on the other end. Wisky hadn't caught his name when he introduced himself, and now she was afraid to ask. _"_ _Royal Kunia. Third hole!"_

Wisky squinted and shifted a fragment of her attention to her orbiting drone. The buzzing in her ear was annoying, but it was a view of the battlefield that most battleships would kill for. "Yeah, I see it. Just north of the green. Looks like… a half dozen guns."

 _"_ _That's the one! Could you make it go away please?"_

Wisky beamed. She was a battleship. She was a battleship born about two years after battleships were conclusively proven obsolete. She was a battleship who'd spent decades of her life tooling around looking for something to do and finding precious little in a world of nuclear carriers and guided missiles.

Now things were different.

Now she had something to do.

"Whoo-shashasha!" Wisky felt the need to provide an onomatopoeia for the axe leaving her hand herself. She couldn't help it. She was _helpful_ again! This was awesome!

—|—|—

"God-fucking-dammit!" Jersey clawed at her eyes, angry in ways that mere words could only hint at expressing, and even then only if written in ninety-six point boldface. Her sister. Was _the most_ embarrassing boat. On the goddamn planet. Holy fuck, she loved the little shit, but…

Just…

 _Holy fuck!_

"You know~" Naka started with a teasing lilt.

"Shut the fuck up!" snapped Jersey, her cheeks as red as Naka's dress wasn't. Why did Wisky have to be like this?! In front of her _friends_ too! And even Naka! "I swear to secnav, one more word and I'm force-feeding you your own ass."

"But—"

"No!" snapped the Iowa. "No live-streaming, or live-tweeting, or snapping or… or… or any fucking small internet noise."

"Fine," Naka huffed and crossed her arms.

Yuudachi opened her mouth to say something.

"Don't!"

Yuudachi closed it again.

Meanwhile, Battleship Musashi stared at the horizon and gulped, wondering what fresh hell she was about to enter. Amaterasu herself couldn't help her now. There were _three of them._


	40. Chapter 31: Critical Dessity

The couter-attack on Pearl had been meticulously planned. More importantly, that plan had been carried out with extreme violence of action by angry Marines and SEALs who were at least as angry, but in honed and polished sort of way. With the princess and her queen gone, the remaining abyssal forces crumbled. Leaderless and without any degree of tactical cohesion, the demons collapsed under the green tide of the devil's own wardogs.

The battle was all but over by the time the last battleships showed up, Mo and Wisky's tomahawks were only the final turbo-jet driven nails in a coffin already welded shut. Ford Island was covered with twisted concrete wreckage and speckled with spot-fires. The channel was choked with rotting, waterlogged corpses and upended tanks where abyssal troops had dove for the sea in desperation. And Mo…

Mo sat on an upended concrete block with her littlest sister, greedily stuffing everything in arms' reach into her mouth. She'd never been this hungry before. She hadn't even known it was _possible_ to be so startlingly ravenous. If she wasn't using both hands to shovel semi-expired MREs down her mouth, she'd be clutching at her achingly twisted stomach. As it was, she was half doubled-over with the crippling stomach cramps.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," a marine's voice shook Mo out of her frantic gluttony. His face—what little of it she could see peeking out from his heavy winter clothing and MOPP suit—was racked with apologetic pity. But in his hands was the glorious brown packaging of a full MRE. "It's all we could find."

Mo swallowed, and swore she heard a pitifully tiny ring as the morsel fell into her painfully empty bunkers. She belatedly realized the bag she was holding was completly empty. She'd been so hungry she'd eaten the flameless ration heater and hadn't even noticed. She was _still_ about that hungry too.

"I don't care," she said, trying to ignore the tear building in the corner of her eye and praying her crimson-tinted shades would hide the brief moment of weakness. She was so hungry she would've kissed him if she could somehow do it while still eating. She all but ripped the bag from his mittens and tore open the packaging.

And that was when a signal officer came screaming onto the bridge, panting breathless predictions of doom and gloom. Mo was only now realizing which menu item she'd been handed. Cheese and Vegetable Omelet. She'd been asleep for the infamous horror show's reign of terror, but her last crew still had… memories.

So revolting was the thought, Mo actually hesitated for almost a full second before her stomach-churning hunger took the conn and forced her to continue. She tore open the first bag she found and forced herself to choke down the revolting clump that could only generously be described as 'egg-like.'

It was exactly as revolting as Mo remembered. But she didn't care. It was _food_ , and the instant it slipped past her throat and into her stomach, it was sweeter than the finest steak. She gobbled the rest of it down, only pausing to wash back the putrid taste with a canteen someone offered her. "Thanks," she said with as much sincerity as she could manage and wiping her mouth with the back of her gloved hand.

She was almost half way through the MRE when she felt a gentle poke against the heavily tattooed flesh of her arm. It was her sister, face half-hidden in her thick turtleneck sweater with one hand wedged between her gunbelt and plate carrier to claw at her stomach. "Sis?"

Wisky blushed and handed an unopened package. "Wa-wanna trade?" she said, her lips shivering from hunger.

Mo glanced at the package. Shredded BBQ beef. Someone must've found a fresh stash while she was busy eating. Just the thought made her mouth water. "Really?"

Wisky nodded. "You m-my sister," she said.

Now Mo was crying, and she didn't care if anyone saw. It was years since the last time she saw her littlest sister. "We'll split it," She said, tearing open the bag and handing it to Wisky.

—|—|—

Musashi was, in a word, scared. In slightly more words, the mightest of all Japan's warships, the biggest proudest and most powerful battleship the world had ever seen or would ever see again was terrified beyond all forms of human comprehension. She forced herself to keep a straight face—for the good of the destroyers and sweet Shinano—but there was no polite way to say it. Musashi was gripped down to her keep by the clutches of mortal horror.

She'd spent months with battleship New Jersey. A battleship to equal even Musashi, a battleship so cripplingly chunni she managed to loop back around to being seriously intimidating. A warship with decades of honorable service, an attitude as commanding as it was bombastic, and an aft that wouldn't quit.

And now there were _three_ of her. The emperor himself couldn't save her now.

The two battleships—with their requisite encourage of support ships and annoying light cruisers with twitter accounts—rounded the bend into the harbor. Kongou took up the rear, still visibly pondering the appropriate amount of dess for the situation at hand.

Musashi didn't give that a second thought though. In an instant she recognized the two youngest Iowas. They were both tied off against Ford Island, their lines unmistakable even through the post-battle haze of smoke and dust. Long, proud bows, low-set turrets, two massive stacks… there was nothing graceful about an Iowa. Powerful, yes. Tremendously powerful fast beyond imagining even sitting at anchor. But not graceful. They were far too aggressive for that, far too actively violent.

"Mo!" Jersey's voice broke harshly and she hit the island at a sprint. She threw her arms out, catching both her sisters in a hug and tackling them to the deck with her sheer momentum. "Wisky!"

Musashi hung back, both because her plant just wasn't up to delivering that kind of power, and because she was pretty sure three Iowas had a minimum safe distance measured in hundreds of miles. Doubly so now that the youngest two had _missiles._ The Yamato gulped and watched the sisters pick themselves up.

They were sisters alright. Each had the same super-humanly towering stature and a build like a power-lifter and sprinter had merged without any of the negatives.

But one was dark, her skin almost the same shade of chocolate as Musashi's and covered in spiraling tribal tattoos that burst from her ragged cutoff sleeves and shorts.

The other was bundled—almost swaddled—in a warm turtleneck sweater with only her shockingly long legs to show off the pure white cream of her skin. Her hair was red—proper, coppery red, not Jersey's strawberry blond—and it fell to her waist in a complex set of braids.

Both sisters had a handful of axes hanging from loops on their belts. Axes so sharp Musashi seriously worried if looking at them too long would give her eyes papercuts.

"Sushi!" Jersey waved the mighty Yamato deeper into the Iowas' blast radius. The red-headed Iowa smiled, waving sheepishly before plunging her hand back into a bag she was holding.

Musashi squared her shoulders and threw out her chest. She was a Yamato, she would face her fears with dignity. "Jersey," she said, stepping onto land with what she hoped was utter confidence and slowly striding towards the assembled Americans.

"Meet my sisters," said Jersey grabbing the other two by their shoulders and hauling them in for a half-hug. "Mo—"

"Musashi," the tanned, heavily-tattooed battleship waved.

"—and Wisky."

"Hi," said the redhead.

Musashi nodded in response. This didn't make sense. They were both so… so _normal._

"Pardon me," said Kongou, appearing at Musashi's with her usual unannounced suddenness.

"'sup, Dessboat," said all three Iowas in glorious harmony.

Kongou blinked, visibly unnerved. "Shouldn't we be chasing the Abyssals?"

"'laska's got it for now," said Jersey, letting her sisters go so they could resume their feast. "They're only doing like… ten knots, and the one's leaking…" she contorted her face. "What I hope is oil but is probably some fucked-up kinda afterbirth."

She shrugged, hands on her hips as she rocked on her heels. "Boss wants to see which way they're heading. And I gotta get these two," she tousled her sisters' hair, "fed 'fore we head out."

"But…" Kongou put her hands on her own hips in imitation of the bigger battleship. She tilted her head, ahoge visibly swaying as she thought. "Even at flank, you wouldn't merge until almost midnight."

The island was very quiet. Even the rustle of Mo and Wisky's meals had stopped. Slowly, belatedly, Kongou realized something. All three Iowas were smiling. And all three smiles consisted of nothing but gleaming, razor-sharp incisors.

"Oh," Kongou blushed, kicking herself for her oversight. "Right, dess."

* * *

 **Uploader's Note:** Well, here it is, back on track! Please review; do you enjoy the action? Do you feel bad for the Abyssal Tirpitz and Bismarck? Do you want to see Ari doing a Flapper dance, from the 1920s?

Well, not that _'I'_ write this, but it's good to get feedback to the jumper.

Oh, be sure to check out my own story (because who is actually above shameless self-advertising), especially if you enjoy references to The Battleshippening.

Caboose Out


	41. Chapter 32: Heavy Iron

She sat back on her humble throne, vast talons touching with a click of polished steel as a ghost of a smile graced her pallid features. There was much work to be done. There was always much work to be done. But with her latest batch of demons already fitting out at their piers—and with another already starting to squirm deep inside her frigid womb—she was willing to allow herself a few moments of pleasure.

 _"_ _Please!"_ The Snow Queen's mewling cry crackled over the airwaves, weak and fragile and barely audible over the never-ceasing industrial din of the island fortress. _"_ _Empress, I beg you! Help us!"_

She allowed her smile to grow until rows of wickedly sharp teeth gleamed in the soulless incandescence. She crossed her long, muscular legs, her pale skin almost glowing in the night. "No," she said with almost giddy cool.

 _"_ _Bu— Empress, please"_.

She spread her gauntlets, talons biting into the disused wooden crates garnishing her throne of concrete and steel. For anyone else, the simple throne and meager throne-room would've been a travesty. Even the humblest of princesses with the saddest of minuscule domains would've demanded a palace far more opulent.

But not her. No, the Empress was content with her small, almost primitive cathedral. Her throne was but a chair, the true seat of her power was the vast stockpiles she'd accumulated. Mountains of ammunition and oceans of fuel, the true treasures of war.

"No," she said again. She stood, hands resting on the crossed gunbelts hanging off her wide-set hips.

 _"_ _Emp—"_

"Ah!" The Empress raised a single finger. "You throw yourself headlong into the fight and call me a _coward_ for giving the slightest thought to my logistics…" She smiled, the second row of gleaming incisors flashing at the night. "And now that you've finally bitten off more than you can chew… you come begging to me for help?"

 _"_ _I…"_

"Shut up." The Empress snapped. She scowled, making it to the balcony overlooking her vast domain with only a few strides of her long marble legs. Come to think of it, she did have a fair surplus of resources, and with her fleet expansion in progress, another wet nurse or two wouldn't be missed. "Fine."

 _"_ _Thank you, emp—"_

"If," said the Empress. "You make it to my fortress on your own. I will not endanger my children to ameliorate your incompetence."

 _"_ _Of course."_ The Snow Queen didn't even try to argue. She must be truly desperate. The Empress smiled, licking her teeth as the overwhelming urge to twist the knife a little deeper took old of her.

"And" she said, "you will swear your _complete, unquestioning_ loyalty to me."

There was a long pause before the Snow Queen finally answered in resignation. _"_ _Yes… Empress."_

—|—|—

The tropical surf was still bitterly cold. Frigid spray crashed over her proud bow with every heaving wave, and six times now she'd had to alter course to miss a pack of jagged ice. Still, it nothing like the maze of ice she'd faced off Hawaii during…

During her last sortie with Captain Solomon.

Mo scowled, the muscles of her back tensing as she took a frigid wave on the bow. The ice floes were getting denser now, but it was still only a shadow of what she'd faced her last sortie as a steel-hull. Maybe because there were only two battleships left and not the entire fleet. Maybe the abyssals' black magic had been depleted by the damage they'd endured.

Mo didn't care. It was a question for her big sister's ex-boyfriend. Right now she _couldn't_ care. Her blood was up, coursing through her veins like molten iron until she barely even noticed the bitter cold. Her hands clenched and unclenched around the rubber-wrapped hilts of her desert eagles, her thumbs lovingly caressing their knurled hammers.

She. Was. _Furious._ Hot breath curled from her nose as she slammed through the waves at over thirty knots. They wouldn't slip through her fingers this time. Not again. She would have her _vengeance_.

No.

Mo blinked, glancing to her flank where Wisky was darting through the ice with a schoolgirl's glee that she _finally_ had her proper speed back. She giggled with each flick of her rudder, her vast shock of copper-red hair whipping in the frigid breeze.

Mo turned her head, looking where Jersey was leading the fleet. Jersey the beauty queen, Jersey the ironmonger. Mo'd always been closest with her big sister, but she'd never seen her smile quite like this. She was _happy._ Not vicious, not sardonically enjoying another's misfortune at her hands. Honestly, genuinely happy.

Belatedly, Mo realized that her big sister had gone almost a year alone. She knew Jersey hated it when people saw her cry, so Mo turned her head and pretended not to notice.

Soon, soon the battle would be met. Vengeance would be served. But not hers.

Ari's.

Captain Solomon's.

Commander Holland's.

The list went on and on…

They would have _their_ vengeance. She was but the humble instrument. "Hope I make you proud, sir," mumbled the Iowa.

—|—|—

"We'll make it," hissed the Snow Queen, answering a question that had hung unanswered over her and her sister for hours. The words were tinny and hollow in her ears, betraying how desperately shallow her breathing had become. She was hungry. So… so hungry. Her bunkers were all but depleted, and still with every passing wave a little more shipped out from the gashes torn along her waterline.

"Will we?" said her sister. The Snow Queen glanced over and knew in an instant her statement was false. She could see it in the way her sister's gaunt jaw hung slack from her eyeless face. The way she clutched her empty stomach. She felt it in herself too.

They were not going to reach the Empress's fortress. One of them was going to eat the other first. It was simply a question of who held on longer.

The Snow Queen scowled, slewing her battery over to face down her sister.

"Sister!" rasped the princess, bringing her own batteries to bear.

"You're thinking it too," hissed the Snow Queen. "There's no way we'll _both_ make it!"

In that instant, for only the briefest fraction of a second, half the horizon burned with the fire of a thousand dawns.

—|—|—

"Aloha," said Mo as her rifles dropped to their loading angles.

—|—|—

"That's not possible!" the Snow Queen shrieked. She'd only seen it for a moment, but the image was seared into her brain like it'd been branded on her very gray matter. Twin stacks, long, knife-like bow. That battleship, that _damn battleship_ was back! "This can't—"

Before she could utter another word, a sixteen-inch super-heavy shell slammed into her upper-works, severing her windpipe cleanly in two and silencing her in an instant.

—|—|—

The battle… wasn't one. There was no maneuver, no give-and-take of strategy and tactics. The engagement was a brief, decisive execution. The three Iowas stood off in the inky midnight gloom, far out of reach of even the most optimistic shot the battle-damaged Abyssals could attempt and poured shot after shot with pinpoint precision.

In less than an hour, it was all over. The sun was starting to rise on an ocean cleansed of the Abyss's taint. It was a small victory, perhaps. But it was, without doubt, a victory.

"Fatality!" roared Wisky with the deepest grunt her already smokey contralto could manage.

There was a loud smack as Jersey's glove met her face. "God fucking _dammit, Wisky!_ "

The littlest Iowa turned to her sister with a smile that said more than words ever could.

* * *

 **Uploader's Note** : FATALITY!

Well, how about that for revenge. Was it satisfying enough? Do you feel bad about them? The Abyssal Bismarck and Tirpitz are now dead- so do you think we will see them as shipgirls? Who knows. Any guess as to who the Snow Queen is? Whoever she is, she's probably screwed, with the horde of American battleships coming at her...unless it's an Abysallized Yamato, who we have not seen yet(?)

Let me (and theJUMper) know what you think in the reviews!


	42. Chapter 33: Jane's Fighting Ships

Admiral Richardson allowed himself a smug grin as Mutsu let out a melodic hum of contentment.

She was seated on the floor with her back to him while he sat forward on the couch, allowing him unfettered access to her neck and shoulders. An arrangement he was taking full advantage of. And also one he was very well aware his wife was enjoying to the fullest.

A tilt of her head to one side prompted him to increase the pressure on that same side. It hadn't taken him long to work out her little signals and gestures and to adjust his ministrations accordingly. Mostly for the neck and shoulders however. The rest of her was still a work in progress. And there was a wait order on the feet and lower legs. Those were plenty off limits until the twins arrived.

Of course, the extra direction provided by a little fairy standing atop her head with a miniature set of semaphore flags was greatly appreciated.

"Mmm... Tonight couldn't have come fast enough~" murmured Mutsu with a smile he knew was there despite not being able to see it.

"Pennsy working you pretty hard?" Richardson hadn't wasted much time in giving Pennsylvania's proposal the green light. Especially after Hiei had gone on to back it with a rather detailed explanation on the pros and cons to go with what Ari's sister had already provided.

"Hard, but she's not reckless." She tilted her head up slightly and Richardson moved his hands in accordance. "And I haven't seen a peep of her usual fire and brimstone."

Richardson nodded with approval. He wouldn't go so far as to say Pennsylvania had suddenly become a social butterfly, but the fact she was willing to put forth an effort to avoid things that would set her off or attempt to rein in her more volatile reactions was telling. There would never be a healing, but there was certainly a hope for something resembling control.

"Daaad. Come on! Mutsu-mama finally has a day off from Pennsy's training and all you two do is talk about work?" Jane's exasperated voice cut through the air from the dining room. "Flirt more! Talk about the names of my adorable twin siblings on the way!"

He rolled his eyes.

"Aren't you supposed to be doing your homework?" he fired back. There was a slight pang of disappointment that his little girl had started calling him 'dad' instead of her usual 'daddy'. It didn't happen often. However the fact it was happening at all told him Jane was starting to look at things slightly differently.

"I finished it all."

"Really?"

"Really really. I even got Smolmu to second check my work." Jane skipped into the living room as she delivered her confirmation.

Richardson sighed while Mutsu giggled.

"I'd like to imagine my miniature self is just as exacting as I am." Mutsu quipped with a mirth-laden voice. "I'm sure we can entertain her a little~"

"I'd still like to know how she managed to summon those things." he grumbled while eyeing his daughter suspiciously. "There's a limit to how far MSSB can go. There has to be."

"Dear, think about what you just said."

Richardson did just that and let the statement roll around in his head for a bit.

Right.

"So, should we tell her?" Part of him wanted for it to be a big surprise for everyone. But at the same time, he did feel a little guilty for keeping Jane in the dark. "I mean, everyone else either figured it out or somehow got a recording of it."

He raised his voice a bit at the end of his words and a none-to-subtle giggle emanated from the kitchen.

"I regret nothing."

"Recording of what, Jintsuu-mama?" queried Jane as she did an about-face and all but ran to the kitchen. The girl could put a destroyer to shame sometimes with how much energy she had. It also went a really long way into explaining how much she ate. Even for her age, it was still crazy. He put away a pretty hefty volume of food himself when he was younger. But Jane put that to shame by leagues.

"Something rather important. And I just so happened to be in the area to overhear." Jintsuu continued to tease her hidden jewel of information, keeping her voice raised enough for everyone to hear.

"Just so happened my foot..." Richardson's toothless ire joined Mutsu's laughter as he began running his fingers through her hair. "You've been having that tiny yo-

"Smoltsuu."

"...Right. Smoltsuu. She's been shadowing me off and on almost since the day she showed up. If you two don't have some sort of system going on, then I'll eat my hat." He'd bet money and favors he only saw her much as he did because she let him. Or she was riding around on Jintsuu's cat. It was really hard to not be noticed when you were an inches tall copy of a shipgirl using a good sized cat as a mount and wielding a lightsaber keychain like it was the real deal.

Things that glowed bright red, or any color for that matter, were not conducive to stealth.

"Oh? You're finally spotting her regularly?" chimed in Mutsu with a mirthful tone that told him he was about to get a headache pretty darn quick. "Jintsuu, I think it's time to increase the difficulty~"

What.

"Are you training me?" Richardson could feel the disbelief practically dripping off his words. He wasn't angry. Not in the slightest. Rather he was just confused. "Do I want to know why?"

"Mmm... Well, I suppose we can let you in on this little game of ours. We are about to spill the beans to Jane about something rather important as well." Jintsuu stated as she left the kitchen. The second pair of footsteps telling that Jane was right behind her. "And yes, it is a bet. One that Yamashiro of all ships is winning at the moment."

Why was his base obsessed with betting?

And on the most bizarre things?

And how in blazes was the self-proclaimed most unlucky ship winning a game of chance?

"Our bet," began Mutsu as Richardson went back to rubbing her shoulders. "Is how often and how quickly you can spot Smoltsuu, or any of the smols for that matter. But the main point winner is Smoltsuu. She just so happened to be around with a recorder when we were talking about that little tidbit~"

Richardson groaned. There was that headache. The one that only shipgirl shenanigans could cause and one he was positive only command staff had to deal with. Goto probably dealt with it more often than anyone else, but Williams probably had the worst ones. He did have a lot of American destroyers on base after all. They were good kids, he'd make no mistake about that. But they were more rambunctious than a two year old hopped up on a literal ton of sugar.

"It just so happens you're learning to be more aware of your surroundings in the process."

He gave Jintsuu the most flat, amused look he could manage while maintaining his ministrations upon his wife. She just gave him a knowing smile in return.

Jane hopped onto the sofa and clapped her hands together, effectively drawing all attention to her and away from the revelation of yet more lighthearted gambling.

"So! What's this thing you and Mutsu-mama were trying to keep secret?" Her amber eyes gleaming brightly with anticipation.

"Might as well spill. I don't think we can keep a lid on it at this point." Richardson adopted a thoughtful expression before tapping Mutsu on the shoulders. "Would you like to do the honors, dear?"

"If you so insist~" Mutsu shuffled around on the floor so she was now seated facing Jane. There was a glow to her cheery features and a twinkle in her eyes. She reached out and took Jane's hands in her own.

The temporarily littlest Richardson's smile grew win anticipation.

"We decided on names for your little sisters. And yes, they are sisters. No little brothers for you yet~"

That subtle tease in Mutsu's tone on the 'yet' filled Richardson with complex emotions and visions of a very, very busy future, but mostly the question of whether or not he'd ever sleep again. He liked sleep. Who didn't? He just didn't get a lot of it. In fact he had a hard time recalling the last time he'd had a full, uninterrupted night's rest that wasn't in some way caused by external forces.

"And? And?" Jane's impatience was palpable and had Mutsu not been holding her hands, it was highly likely the girl would have begun to vibrate through the sofa. Or begin levitating. Or somehow both.

"We decided on Mary and Mirai." Mutsu smiled broadly. "What do you think?"

"I think they're great!" came Jane's almost immediate reply. Her joy was stilled not a moment later as she turned to her father with an expression of abject shock. "Wait. Did Dad help pick these?"

"Of course I did!"

"Only after I let you get the chuuni out of your system."

"...You didn't need to tell her that." He hung his head in shame and defeat. Why did no one understand his naming sense? Was he doomed to never grace someone with a truly epic name?

"Do I want to know?" queried Jane hesitantly.

"No, you really don't." Jintsuu piped in whilst giving the girl a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Some things are better left to the unknown."

Says the warship with the Darth Vader body pillow grumbled Richardson internally.

Mutsu giggled.

"Once he ran out of legends, myths, metal bands, and pantheons, he finally came up with Mary." She leaned in as best she could and stage whispered to Jane, giving a playful glance at Richardson as she did so. A look that told him he was about to be the butt of yet more teasing and joking. "I think your father might not be completely hopeless after all."

"I hope so. I was getting nervous."

Amidst the following laughter, there was a knock on the door.

"I'll get it." Richardson stated as he stood up. "I need to escape this brutal and vicious assault on my character anyway."

"Brutal?" questioned Mutsu as she glanced up at Jintsuu, quelling her laughter for a more serious expression.

"Vicious?" Jintsuu returned the look.

"I thought we had only gotten to wicked."

The warships began laughing once more as Richardson rolled his eyes in the most dramatic fashion he could muster. Oh, he'd have his vengeance. One day. Maybe. His wife was no simple foe. And Jintsuu, was Jintsuu.

"Har har har."

Strategically withdrawing, not retreating, to the front door, he glanced out the peephole to see who was at the door. It looked to be an enlisted. At this hour? What was going on?

He unlocked and then opened the door.

"A bit late for a social call, sailor. What can I help you with?"

He was given a rather snappy salute in response.

"I have a message for you, sir. I was instructed that it was for your eyes only and to guard it with my life if need be."

Well, that wasn't ominous at all.

"At ease and let's have it. I'm sure you don't want to hang onto it any more than I probably want to receive it." There was an awkward silence as though the sailor wasn't sure if he was joking or not. Which he was. He did take his duties seriously after all. Tried to at least. "That was a joke."

"Ah, sorry, sir. I'm still a little..."

"Don't worry about it. Here." He waved his hand and then held it out to accept the message.

Taking the sealed envelope, Richardson leaned against the doorframe much to the apparent surprise of the enlisted standing before him. He tore open the seal and withdrew the message. It was handwritten and he recognized it as Goto's crisp, blocky script. This was getting more strange by the minute.

Well, nothing to wait for.

Richardson began reading.

And reading.

And reading.

When he was done, he read it again just to make sure he hadn't suddenly gone completely mad.

Slowly he looked up from the message, held in now shaking hands, and locked eyes with the enlisted.

"You... cannot be serious."

"Per Admiral Goto... Very serious, sir."

Smooth jazz filled the barroom. Relaxing the spirits of those souls who came to kick back and enjoy a trouble free evening.

Ideally with good company. Whether that be a friend or two, a romantic pursuit, or even their own thoughts and a glass of gin. Company was a must here if one wanted to enjoy the eve to the fullest.

Arizona considered this to be one of the more sane dreamscapes she had experienced so far.

She hadn't really been sure what to expect when she had closed her eyes and entered the deep sleep needed for Akashi to work on the much needed refit. Everyone she'd talked to had said they'd experienced something different. Ranging from meeting their former crews to facing off against their worst fears to winning the grand prize of a lifetime supply of cake. But she was fairly certain few had as much a wild or varied ride as she was going through.

There was quite a bit of blame to be laid at the feet of her friends and family for some of the experiences she'd gone through however. Particularly the fiasco involving the comedy of errors that was helping Jintsuu give Valentine's chocolate to her beloved upperclassmate, Darth Vader. Without getting caught by Principal Palpatine.

That had been... interesting were she to put it lightly. Certainly an event to hang over the cruiser's head when she awoke.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Arizona turned away from the Manhattan she had been staring into for the past few minutes and turned her steely grey eyes to a spirit with whom she shared a very... complicated relationship. One she would much rather not deal with at all. But due to circumstance, she really had no choice in the matter.

"Shouldn't you be off trying to seduce something?" The towering rage of her prudish beliefs had long since been worn down into resigned acceptance with this individual. It had been better to accept she was never going away than to drive herself mad wishing so.

"Oh, perhaps later. Even spirits get tired you know." The spirit took a seat as she spoke. "Besides, I'm still in a state of utter shock over that little escapade."

Arizona did not need a mirror to know she had turned red as her hair at those words.

"Miss Blair, please do not say another word."

Madeline shrugged and graced her with a smile that was far, far too much like Mutsu's own for her liking.

"What? I'm not the one who seduced your new Admiral." She giggled with a saucy grin on her face. "Even I didn't go after anyone with too fancy a pin. But you? Oh dear me my."

"Madeline..." growled out Arizona as she tried to glare the other woman into oblivion. Such was the problem of being able to interact with elements of your soul and fairies in general. You didn't always get along with them. And some you really wished you could get rid of.

"You shot for the stars~"

Arizona let out a strangled sound of embarrassment and fury as Madeline's taunting brought memories to the fore in incredibly lurid detail. Details she would never, ever allow to be revealed. Either in spoken verse or written word. Not ever.

Dammit all!

John was not supposed to be running around fighting demons with some blade of legend, clad in naught but a loincloth and looking like a well oiled male pinup off the covers of the most salacious bodice rippers imaginable! Nor was she supposed to be a scantily clad warrior princess who fought alongside him and challenged him to contests of strength, combat prowess, and other endeavors of good natured rivalry. Their seemingly endless stalemate finally broken when they smote the vile demon lord and their passions had finally shattered the bindings placed upon them. Shattered them and left her coming out on top.

The stereotypes were almost too painful to bear as she recalled that particular dream. Even outside the salacious content.

"It's quite funny seeing what parts of you take over in your dreams. Especially when you're not quite yourself." Madeline chuckled. "Of course, I don't mind the ones where your conscious mind is at the helm. Much like this one. Though some more company and a little spice in the music every few songs would be nice."

For a brief moment, Arizona considered attempting to throw the spirit out the nearest door or enact some other drastic means of removing her. But despite her issues with the other woman, it was almost nice to chat with her. Almost. And she wasn't yet incensed enough to wreck the rather pleasant environment.

Thus she settled for resting her head on the counter-top with a dull thud.

"Be careful. You don't want to spill your drink now."

"Had I any control over this, I'd conjure up a cannon and shoot you to the moon."

"But you don't. So you're stuck with me this round. And besides, I'm a part of you. I just happen to be one of the more irritatingly intrusive and vocal parts." Madeline sipped her own fancy drink with a satisfied smile. "Besides~ I know you're not nearly as angry as you want to seem."

Arizona could only grumble a resigned agreement.

"Accursed subconscious. Becoming this intimate with my supposed inner self is not something I would have ever wished for. This goes far beyond coming to terms." She lifted her head from the counter and took up her own drink. The liquor went down smooth. "I pray Akashi gets the lead out and finishes quickly. This is taking far too long."

"Perhaps. But you kno-"

"I am perfectly well aware that this is all some sort of a lucid dream and that time is probably meaningless. But that doesn't make me any more eager to remain." There was far too much to do in the waking world. She could not languish here.

"Not even for the donuts?"

Oh, that was a low blow.

"...Not even for the donuts."

The hesitation in her reply was damning.

That dream had been a gluttonous paradise. Donuts of all conceivable sort laid out before her in an endless realm of gigantic pastries. Some she had the luxury of tasting in the waking world, others she'd only heard legend of, and even those which were a figment of her own imagination.

A mere thought had summoned up a treat of her choosing and the fountains of coffee ensured she was never left wanting for a good cup. And it was always just the right temperature. Piping hot, but never enough to burn the tongue.

"Reeeeally~?"

"I will find a way to recreate some of those. Mark my words." Even if it involved letting Hiei help and have full run of the kitchen with will rights to experiment. She would taste those donuts again. Of course, she would share them. Such majesty was not to be contained. But there was no denying the origin of her desire was blatantly selfish.

Madeline laughed. For once with legitimate humor and none of the usual sultry tones that normally laced her voice.

"Good luck with that. I don't think some of those donuts were designed to be made by mortal hands or with mundane ingredients."

Arizona huffed in response to that and crossed her arms.

"A minor inconvenience."

As the mood settled, a bell rang out. A bell Arizona knew by now signaled the end of this particular dream. It was a bit of a pity. She would have liked to enjoy it a little more. Perhaps dance a little or continue chatting. But such things were not within her realm of control, much to her ire.

However before she could bid farewell to Madeline, something she felt was only appropriate by now, the air was split by the piercing whistle of the boatswain's call.

This was a first...

A nearby door opened, it's dark wood front revealing grey painted steel as it swung open.

All assembled in the barroom turned to the portal and stilled. Those who wee not standing, did so. The musicians set aside their instruments and the bartender placed the last glass upon the countertop.

It was time.

Arizona could feel it in her bones. In her steel. Suffused into her entire being were her new orders. There was no doubt. No questioning the validity of it.

All eyes turned to her and a small smiled tugged at her lips.

"All hands to stations. Prepare to weigh anchor."

Without a pause, the room was empty. Empty save for her and Madeline. Well, Madeline didn't really have a post to return to. She was simply... there.

"Well, I suppose this is it for now. A shame." Arizona's most famous stowaway reached over and took the battleship's still half full drink from its place on the counter. "It's nice to be able to talk like this. I suppose I'll have to wait for round two."

Arizona turned to the spirit and paused.

"I will... see what I can do."

Madeline raised an eyebrow.

"So much of you is anathema to me, but I will not say our chances to speak were wholly unpleasant. I might even go so far as to admit some were almost enjoyable." She paused. "I will find a way to launch you to the moon however."

Silence permeated the barroom before both women began laughing. A friendly sort of laughter shared between two people who had wildly different outlooks on life.

It was Madeline who broke the humor with a chuckle and smile.

"Go on. You have a war to fight and I have... _things_ to do~"

Arizona palmed her face with a groan.

"Until next time, Madeline."

"Until next time."

Battleship Arizona turned and walked through the portal with a smile.

And in the waking world, steely grey eyes opened once more.

* * *

 **Uploader's Note:** **Hello, CabooseHelpsU here. Sorry for dropping off the radar. I** _think_ **I warned you that I would be busy (if not here, then in my other stories, including** _Midway,_ **Co written with TheKitsuneLord12). And Busy I am. If I wanna be smart like Doc Sollette, I won't have much time. Should that happen, REVIEW/PM to get my lazy keester in gear. Well, enjoy, don't be afraid to ask/tell me anything! I've got a nice little stockpile of chapters (note the word little!), so we are set for now.**

 **Caboose Out**


	43. Chapter 34: Snowy

"You should go talk to her." Lou's easy-going and delightfully accented voice cut through the layers of stress-riddled knots Alaska'd tied herself into. The bigger cruiser stiffened, letting out a yelp like someone had just poked her shapely aft with a thumbtack and looking around for the source of her surprise.

"'Laska," said Lou, giggling to herself at the absurdity of it all. Alaska was, as the number painted so proudly on her bow made clear, a _large_ cruiser. Fully three times Lou's displacement and with half again the installed power, Alaska was a seagoing behemoth of a cruiser.

She towered over the rest of her division, even the flagrantly treaty-busting Prinz Eugen—who herself was only two-thirds Alaska's immense displacement. And the sweet-hearted immigrant even had the advantage of those thoroughly non-compliant upperworks Friso liked so much to quite literally pad out her stats.

Alaska had none of that. She was nearly as flat around the bust as a treaty cruiser, Her weight came only from her brawn. And, of course, a set of rifles that wouldn't have looked out of place on a battleship.

By every possible metric, the large cruiser should've commanded reverence and awe from her division. But after spending a few days with her, Lou couldn't see anything but a big white teddy bear.

"What?" Alaska chewed her lip nervously, her shock of snowy hair waving in the breeze as she slipped between the last few tiny ice floes still specking the rapidly-warming tropical ocean.

"Go _talk_ to her," said Lou, shooing the bigger warship away with both hands.

Alaska's face blushed as red as it was possible for snowdrift to blush. "W-who," she stammered. "S-shut up."

"I believe," said Prinz Eugen, her accent getting significantly richer either because he wanted to play up the _Herr Doktor_ vibe or because she was Prinz Eugen and that's just what she was like sometimes. "She is talking about miss Missouri."

Lou sighed. "Thank you pudding."

"You're welcome!"

Alaska stifled a giggle.

"Seriously," said Frisco. "We can all tell that you want to talk to her."

"But…" Alaska trailed off. "I was in service for two and a half years. I didn't really…" she scuffed her heel against the surf. " _Do_ anything. Not Mo. Mo… you know she gave the navy _eighty_ years of service?"

Prinz Eugen scrunched her nose, fingers idly flailing through the air as she tried to total up the numbers.

"She's fought in every war," continued Alaska. "World-War II, Korea, the Gulf, now the Abyssal war." She shook her head. "I was on a cruise with her once. It was the coolest thing I'd ever done. For her it was… not even a footnote."

"Oh my god," Lou shook her head.

"She probably doesn't remember me," said Alaska with conviction. "I… I won't bother her."

"You should talk to her," said Prinz Eugen, her voice a tiny bit quieter than usual. "Who knows when you'll… be stationed with her. Again."

Lou nodded. "I can manage the division for a few minutes."

Alaska blinked. "R-really?"

"Yes," said Lou. "Now _shoo_."

The large cruiser smiled and carefully advanced her throttle until she started to pull away from the rest of her division. She was still trying to figure out what exactly she was going to say when she heard a roaring, familiar contralto call out her name.

"Hey, 'laska!" Mo waved a tattooed arm. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Alaska's jaw dropped. "Y-you remember me?"

"Hell yeah," said the towering Iowa. "You're not exactly easy to forget. C'mere, form up."

Alaska pulled into formation like a giddy school girl. "Thank you."

Mo smiled, her coal-red eyes almost gleaming under her mirrored scarlet shade. "So, what's on your mind, 'laska?"

"Well," Alaska felt the words come tumbling out. Missouri was as close to a goddess as any warship could ever get. A warrior queen, but the way she talked made Alaska feel like she was almost equal with the mighty BB-sixty-three. "I was wondering if… maybe… you'd pat my head?"

The large cruiser leaned over to present the snow-capped appendage in question.

"Of course," Mo reached over and tousled Alaska's shimmering hair with her hand. "Wow, that's _really_ soft."

"Thanks," said Alaska. "I use conditioner."

"Really?"

Alaska nodded. "My boyfriend's mom bought it for me. It's… silk, I think." She nodded again. "I can show you the bottle when we get back."

"That'd be great," said Mo. "I'm… not exactly used to this whole having a body thing."

"You'll figure it out," said Alaska with a sage nod.

"Actually," said Mo, planting her hands on her broad hips and smirking. "On that note there's something you could help me with."

Alaska stiffened, then drew herself up to her full height. Her chest puffed up and she stood ready to assist the great battleship Missouri. "Anything."

"I understand," said Mo, "That you're an expert in sunlit naps. You mind showing me the ropes?"

Alaska froze. Which considering the average temperature of her namesake state and the near-constant pleasant chill emanating from her body shouldn't have been surprising. "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh," a moment later her brain realized there wasn't an alert level higher than general quarters and settled back to a known level of hyperactivity. "I.. you… nap… with me… sun…?"

"So," crooned Wisky from across the formation. " _Fucking_ Kawaii."

"GODDAMIT, WISKY!" barked Jersey. "WHY! FUCKING WHY!"

"Because I'm your little sister," teased the littlest Iowa, "And I can."


	44. Chapter 35: IronColle

**IronColle**

Captain Matt Irons stared at what had to be the weirdest thing he'd ever seen. Which, considering he was stationed at a naval base in the tropical Pacific that was covered in feet of slowly-melting snow, had been occupied by literal demon-nazis who'd clawed their way back from hell itself, and had just recently been liberated by Kaga and Akagi reborn as shockingly pretty girls, was slightly concerning.

Or would have been, if the good Captain hadn't completely abandoned the idea that he was at all in control of his life anymore. Things just _happened_ to and around him now. Sometimes they would follow some semblance of logical coherency, but that was a rare delicacy that he'd long since learned to live without.

Now he just rolled with the punches. Or as the case may be this particular night, enjoyed what seemed to be an impromptu concert thrown by the many shipgirls not participating in the midnight attack. Since inclusion in that list depended mostly on the presence of integrated American fire-control radar, the ships left behind had been overwhelmingly Japanese.

This had had interesting effects on the choice of music. From what he'd gathered, Naka had nominated herself expert in mid-eighties American culture, and demanded that the Iowa sisters' service during that decade required—nay, _demanded_ —a rocking montage to back their attack.

Kongou'd volunteered to play her incredibly loud and semi-deliberately miss-tuned electric guitar, Akagi was cheerfully smashing away on the drums with a drumstick—of the Kentucky-fried variety—wedged between her teeth, and _Kaga_ of all people had volunteered as the most stony-faced bassist Irons had ever seen. Naka was, of course, on lead vocals.

That'd worked out as well as could be expected for about an hour before the little traffic cone blew out her voice and had to cede her position to Kongou and fall back to furiously hammering a keyboard. Also, Yuudachi had climbed up on stage and started a call-and-response version of Wanted Dead Or Alive for no apparent reason. She was still there, providing backing vocals and screaming 'Poi!' at inappropriate times while flashing devil horns and headbanging.

If Irons were her admiral, he'd recommenced cutting the little destroyer's sugar intake significantly. But he wasn't, and he doubted it would've mattered. It seemed like everyone on the island was determined to feed her things.

"This next one goes out!" Kongou screeched into the mic, her hair visibly sweaty from the impromptu stage lights and the blistering wind coming off the Pacific that was quickly melting the abyssals' icy fortification. "To Jersey and her sisters! Hit it, Naka-chan!"

Naka nodded and bobbed her whole body at the waist as she launched into an instantly-recognizable keyboard riff.

"Where have all the good ships gone?" crooned the oldest dessboat.

"Poi."

"—And where all all the gods?" Kongou shot Yuudachi a glare. "Where's the street-wise Hercules to fight the rising odds?"

Yuudachi bobbed her head with the music, her scarf whipping around as she started… disco-dancing… on stage. That girl had _way_ too much sugar in her bloodstream. That, or she was up way past her bedtime. Or some combination thereof.

"I need a hero!" With both hands flying up her guitar, Kongou stepped close to the mic and crooned into it with all her steam-boosted power. Her voice wasn't what you'd call rock-ready, but she made up for it with enthusiasm and sheer volume. "I'm holding out for a hero 'till the end of the night!"

She took a breath. It was all the opening Yuudachi needed. The little destroyer pounced, ripping the microphone out of its stand and cupping it to her mouth. "She's gotta be fast! She's gotta be strong! She's gotta be fresh from the fiiiiight, poi!"

Kongou mouthed something angry that the microphone didn't pick up and dove on Yuudachi. The destroyer jinked too late, and Kongou cauht her legs in a bear-hug. Naka blinked, and looked to the other two ships in her makeshift band. Akagi was still eating, and Kaga was… well… Kaga. They settled on an instrumental bridge while Kongou and Yuudachi fought.

After a few minutes, Kongou's strength and shear mass won out over Yuudachi's sugar high and the battleship was able to finish the song.

As the last bars faded into the night, Yuudachi took a running jump from the edge of the stage, snatched the microphone from Kongou's hand, and screamed "POOOOOOOOOOI!" with one hand flung up in rocker horns. She whipped around, flashed an impish grin towards Kongou, and then dropped the mic and bolted.

Kongou started to give chance, then thought better of it and just collected the mic. Captain Irons had never been so happy he wasn't in charge of any of the reality-defying little shits.

"Our next song," Kongou wiped her forehead with the back of her billowing detached sleeve, "Will be… um…"

"Do Queen!" roared someone in the audience.

"Yes!" Kongou threw her hand out in the general direction of the speaker. "Queen, yes!" She turned to face her band and with a few seconds' discussion and a few minutes tuning, they launched into their next song of the night.

"Aaaaaaaah!" Kongou grabbed the mic with both hands and got as close to french-kissing it as her British heritage would allow. "You gonna take me home tonight!" The next line was lost in the audience' cheers. Irons couldn't help himself but joining in.

"Fat bottomed boats, you make the world go round!" Kongou was no Freddy, but she wasn't bad either, and that nontraditional miko ouftit certainly worked with her hip-swinging imitation of Mercury's dancing. Her on-the-fly substitution with naval terms wasn't half bad either.

Irons couldn't help singing along, and when the song ended he heard a distant "Poooi!" and what sounded like a muffled car alarm. Which was fine. Yuudachi wasn't his shipgirl. He didn't have any shipgirls. His life was simple now.

"Sir?" a sailor tapped him on the shoulder. "Captain Irons?"

"What is it?" Irons glanced at the young man and for some reason his blood ran cold.

"It's…" the sailor gulped the air. "I… you've gotta see this, sir. At the harbor."

"What is it, sailor?" Irons wasn't asking anymore. He took off after the sailor at a hasty jog, mentally running through what could've possibly gone so wrong.

"It's…" The sailor waved to the harbor. "That!"

Irons scowled and squinted into the gloom. The sky was still black as night, and a heavy fog had settled over battleship row. He couldn't see a—

No.

There.

Just barely visible in the fog, silhouetted by the first amber rays of pre-dawn sun peeking over the horizon.

A mast.

"What?" he mouthed, suddenly as speechless as the sailor who'd dragged him over. He walked closer to the harbor, mouth hanging agape at the massive metal structure towering over battleship row.

No. Not structure.

 _Structures._

There was another.

And another.

And two more across the harbor.

And there, standing on the concrete embankment at the edge of Ford Island were six girls. Girls that could've been sisters. Short, shapely, impossibly curvy sisters.

One of them stepped forwards. A shapely girl even by the standards of her group with short blonde hair and an even shorter dress. Her armored heels snapped toughener with a clang of anti fouling-coated steel and a gloved hand snapped to the brim of her peaked cap. "Battleship West Virginia, reporting as ordered."

Another stepped forwards. One with long hair and a long fringed-leather skirt split high enough to show a much shorter black underskirt. She snapped off a crisp salute, her red neckerchief billowing in the stiff tropical wind. "Battleship Nevada, reporting as ordered."

A girl with a lone eagle feather tucked into her hair was next. Her skirt was far shorter, but shared the same fringed-leather style. Her cheeks squished into a smile she couldn't repress as she saluted. "Battleship Oklahoma, reporting as ordered."

Next was a well-tanned girl who mixed thigh-highs with her minidress. She stood proud, her shoulders square and her salute parade-ground perfect. "Battleship Tennessee, reporting as orders."

The next girl had shorter socks and skin more sun-kissed than tanned, but the two were unquestionably sisters. She gave an enthusiastic salute and a big grin. "Battleship California, reporting as ordered."

Last was the lone redhead. She hesitated a moment, staring at the others with tears in her eyes before she too saluted. "Battleship Maryland, reporting as ordered."

Captain Irons brought a trembling hand to his brow. They were back. _Battleship Row_ was back!

* * *

 **UPLOADER'S NOTE: Hello, Caboose here. I cannot thank you enough for the views, comments, questions and concerns that this story has been given (e'en if it's not "mine", I still do occasional spell checking). That said, I need to address something concerning the pacing of this story.**

 **When I was first given the go ahead to "Catch Up" to the story, months ago, it had been somewhere around a year since Nuker's Hiatus of this story. So, being as enthusiastic as I was, I realized only after the fact that I was running out of content. That's why the chapter with The Great Wedding was over 12k words long(!). And, later, I tightened the belt with chapters ranging 5k to 800 words. Yes, quite annoying.**

 **In addition to the wordcount, I need to address the "Filler" stuff, like Alaska/Atago/Cameron three-way fluff (To those of you hoping for a lemon like that, sorry. The only way THAT will happen is if someone ELSE writes it, not me or Jumper). cough. Why do those portions exist? Because the writing/reading styles are very different on SpaceBattles/Sufficient Velocity. It's not really posted in chapters, it's posted in Comments within an overarching "Thread", merely bookmarked for ease of navigation.**

 **The whole "Wisky being a weeb" thing? Or the Tomahawk Missile AND actual tomahawk? That's due to people posting RIGHT after they were introduced, saying "Hey, what if X happened...or hey, what if this person was like this?" Basically, the story belongs solely to Jumper in name. It is _Heavily Influenced_ by other people. Thus, you have Arizona, who started as an Omake, that Jumper accepted.**

 **So, imagine a multifaceted thread/story that merely centers around a single person's writings. Yupp, that's what this is. You too can influence how this story goes. I will reword this. IF YOU DON'T LIKE SOMETHING, YOU CAN SAY SO ON THE FORUMS! I don't mean to shout, by the way, just get your attention in this already long note.**

 **...**

 **To close, I've got good news. West Point's Library, Jefferson Hall, has an extremely good selection of historical books, records, and compilations that I would not ordinarily find. So, my baby, Confused Aircraft Carriers, can continue!...Now, the Bad News is that I have another Concussion. Yepp, silly Caboose will have to see how this turns out.**

 **Review! Caboose Out.**


	45. Chapter 36: IronColle Intensifies

Captain Irons had always thought there was something singularly beautiful about American standard battleships. They weren't the fastest ships in the world, nor the sleekest, and while their rifles were mighty there were other ships like the Iowa sisters or Musashi who commanded a more potent chorus.

But there was something exquisite about a battle-line of matched siblings. Each ship had her own pugnacious beauty, but a fleet of sisters danced an intricate ballet of fire and fury that nothing else in the world could match. A standard battle-line was a thing of unparalleled beauty, and now that he could see the dancers with his own eyes…

They were more beautiful than he'd ever imagined. Short, yes, at least compared to the superhuman amazons of Jersey, Missouri, and Wisconsin. But beautiful and shapely and curvy in all the right ways. Even now as they awaited his orders, the sisters subtly shifted on the bombed-out concrete. Forming into proper battle-spacing with their bows pointed squarely at him.

For what felt like hours, all Irons could do was stare with rotating shades of awe, shock, and reverence. _Battleship Row_ was back!

…in Pearl Harbor.

…where Akagi and Kaga were playing a concert not a mile distant.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-," Irons muttered, not a full on scream solely because his new-found fright had paralyzed too much of his lung capacity to generate the required volume.

"Language!" said the rather buxom—they were _all_ buxum (why did Irons' mind find the need to add that qualifier?!)—blond with the long fringed-leather skirt. Nevada, his mind filled in belatedly.

Irons squinted. He hadn't known many of the kanmusume, and while not all of them were famously foul mouthed as the Black Dragon, none of them had any real problem with salty sailor talk. "Pardon?"

Nevada shrugged, her gloved hands settling on a old-west gunbelt slung over her wide-set hips. "'lest in front of Okie."

"I'm not a kid, you know," said the shorter-haired standard with a much shorter skirt. But her tone was more of grudging obligation than true annoyance, and she happily leaned in to her sister's hug.

"Right," said Irons, trying to mentally plot a course that'd deliver the standard battle line to the Admiral's office without putting them within spotting distance of Naka at any point. Even at night, the traffic cone couldn't be easy to miss. At least none of them could safely launch their seaplanes in the gloom. "Um… We need to see the admiral."

"You're not our admiral?" Said the bespectacled girl with the tiny pencil skirt and near-sheer thigh-highs. WeeVee, he recalled as she captured his arm between her refit-augmented bosoms.

"It's too bad," said Tennessee. She and her sister were the only ships to trade miniskirts for mini-dresses and stockings. How they weren't freezing when it was still unseasonably cold on Hawaii was beyond him. "You look like you've got potential."

"I guess," mumbled Irons, glancing forlornly across the harbor at a ruined hulk shoved to the shore.

"Your ship?" asked Nevada tenderly.

Irons nodded. " _Halsey_ ," he said. "She got mauled pretty bad, somehow she got us home."

"What's she doing there?" asked Okie.

"Don't have the manpower to fix her," said Irons, guiding the battle line around the island towards the Admiral's office. "Or even scrap her. Just…" he trailed off.

Tennessee had fallen to the back of the line, her head cocked to the side and her ears twitching. "Is that… music?"

Irons gulped, and picked up the pace. "Admiral Kinsey will explain it all."

Okie opened her mouth, glanced at Nevada, then closed it again.

—|—|—

Sarah Gale sat down for her eleventh meal of the day, only to find that Crowning and Kirishima had interrupted whatever it was they were doing to stare gooey-eyed at her. Gale sighed and took a giant mouthful of dressing-soaked spinach before deciding that she did indeed have the patience for this. "What?"

"It's so cute," said the littlest Kongou, hugging herself and rocking from side to side in gentle waves. "The way you cradle your child."

Gale sighed and glanced down. Six months in and she was finally developing a noticeable baby bump. She'd actually been overjoyed when she first noticed how round her belly was getting. It was silly, but having an unmistakable physical sign of Wash's love for her paraded around for everyone to see made her happy. Happier than she would've been if she was _just_ having a baby out of sight. Of course, her brain was swamped with _all_ the hormones, so she figured it came with the territory.

Of course, her joy had only lasted until she tried to _sit up_ that morning. It was about then that the reality of her life came crashing home. "Kiri," Gale leaned forwards, hunkering protectively over her meal lest someone try and steal it while she wasn't looking. She didn't think that likely, but she was so hungry the animal part of her brain had taken over. "Do you really wanna know why I'm always holding my belly?"

"Because you love your baby?" sang Kirishima dreamily, her whole body swaying side to side and bumping meaningfully into Crowning—who was clearly trying to have no part in this—"and you just want to hold it and cuddle it?"

"No," said Gale. "Well, yes, but…" she took another huge bite and chewed as quickly as she could. "Okay… I'm six months pregnant."

"Twenty-six weeks, four days, three hours," said Kirishima, her glasses temporarily turning opaque as they reflected the dining hall light.

Gale blinked. "What?"

Kirishima blinked and stuffed a tiny notebook into what passed for a bra with the Kongou sisters. "What?"

Crowning groaned. His head hit the table and he muttered something about "the sane one."

Both women choose to ignore that comment. Gale coughed and took another bite. "Anyway," she said, dabbing some dressing from her lips, "you know how much a baby weighs at six months?"

Kirishima opened her mouth.

"AH!" Gale waved a finger, "I don't wanna know. It's two pounds by the way."

Kirishima nodded, cradling her own much flatter stomach. "That doesn't sound that bad…"

"Oh," Gale shook her head. "Oh, you poor, sweet summer child. I said _a_ baby, not _my_ baby." The sailor glanced down at her growing middle and sighed. "This little shit weighs _eleven fucking pounds._ I've got a lead fucking bowling ball in my belly that—" She suddenly sat up straight with a wince. "—Ah! Kicks me if she's not fed every hour on the hour."

"Oh," said Kirishima, putting a hand on Gale's in sympathy. It was clearly an act, and not a very good one, but at least the littlest dess was trying. "I'm sorry."

Gale sighed and shook her head. "You still want one of your own, don't you?"

Kirishima nodded. "Very much so, yes. Ideally three or four."

The two women fell silent and slowly turned to face Crowning, visibly tingling with anticipation. For his part, the professor just sighed and helped himself to a slice of toast. "Girls, I gave up on any control over my life the moment I got on that plane with Jersey."

—|—|—

Captain Irons slouched against a wall in what was left of the command building, too exhausted to even find a chair. He hadn't realized how close escorting that battle line a few miles had brought him to a heart attack. Ballerinas of death who'd watched their home turned to flame by the very carriers parting further inland, and _he_ had to keep them corralled.

And that wasn't all of it. Irons would freely admit—if only to himself—that… his mind hadn't been fully occupied with the task at hand. The Standards weren't just deadly, they were _dangerous_ in the truest scene of the word. Almost super-humanly gorgeous, and between Okie's earnestness, Nevada's gentle big-sister act, Cali's energy, and Tennessee's respect and discipline, they weren't bad company either.

Before he could finish his train of thought, the door creaked open and captain Irons struggled to his feet. The parade of standards filed out in perfectly military order, reflexively turning down the hall with synchronized precision that'd make the silent drill team look like a gaggle of confused toddlers looking for their crayons.

As they passed, Nevada looked back to give him a tiny wink, and Cali was clearly holding back a giggle. For some reason, that filled the captain with indescribable dread. It was almost like they were flirting with him, but that couldn't be, right? Didn't shipgirls only go after those of flag rank and above?

"Admiral," Irons stiffened at the weary face of Admiral Kinsey.

"Captain," Kinsey looked like hell, but there was… _something_ about the man's face. Some inner gleam that was getting him through the day. "I've briefed our new arrivals on the situation, they seemed to take it well."

Irons nodded. That wasn't surprising. They'd all—save poor Okie—lived to see the end of the last war.

"Unfortunately, with the reconstruction and defense proceedings I'm not able to give them the attention they require," said Kinsey. Kanmusume were awesomely powerful on the waves, but they demanded a degree of micromanagement, patience, and… _personal affection_ for lack of a better term. Just corralling them to the admiral's office had worn him out, he couldn't imagine trying to command them on a daily basis.

"Irons," said Kinsey, "You were on the track for rear admiral before the war broke out, correct?"

Irons squinted his eyes, indescribable dread starting to grow in his gut. "Yes?" After a moment, he added a hasty qualification. "But there haven't been any open positions with… all that's happened."

"One seems to have become available," said Kinsey. "I'm assigning the newly-returned battle line to your care, _Admiral_ Irons."

Irons gulped.

"Of course…" Kinsey looked out a picture window that had been—before the Abyssal attack—a wall. "With the damage we've suffered, you'd need to room with them for the time being. I trust that won't be a problem?"

Irons gulped again. "F-for the service, sir."

* * *

 **Uploader's Note: Poor Gale...and Irons(?)...and, here's a little something I found on the forums...**

* * *

Pennsy and Des Div 6 make movie night a regular thing, and one night they watch Jurassic Park.

Akatsuki: Dinosaur movies are fun. I like the velociraptors. The remind me of destroyers!

Pennsy: I guess I can see that.

Hibiki: What's your favorite?

Pennsy: I hadn't thought about it. I guess I like the T-Rex.

Ikazuchi: (sits up and looks at Pennsy, then smiles big)

Pennsy: (holds up her finger) No!

Ikazuchi: Pennsysaurus Rex!

Pennsy: (facepalming)

Inazuma: (laying with her head on Pennsy's lap) Comfysaurus Rex...

* * *

 **Be sure to check out the Abyssal songs by Somnium, they are on youtube, uploaded there by Mayumi Sugihara. Or find it on Bandicamp, whatever. ~Decisive Battle~ is particularly good.**

 **Caboose Out**


	46. Chapter 37: The Dungeon Boss Appears(?)

Tosa hummed a tune with a smile on her face.

A deceptively steely finger drew a line down what passed as the cheek of her closest aide, leaving a trail of inky smoke behind. It did not shudder or make actions of yearning. It simply stood there fully at attention as she did as she liked.

It was a useful thing. Loyal. Intelligent. Extremely capable of seeing to her every desire and need. Whether it be epic in scale or difficulty, or a trifling thing such as passing her something to drink. Not exactly the best for casual conversation, but she wasn't really one to engage in pointless tongue flapping. Least of all when there were far better things to do.

Were she in the mood to give an honest reply, she would say she was quite fond of it. Attached even. Some of these emotions were well outside of her ability to properly emulate at the moment, but that was hardly an obstacle to getting started. Especially when doing so had proven to be very rewarding.

Though a name really would help... Though it well knew when it was being addressed, calling it whatever came to mind at any given moment was really rather irritating. And dreadfully lacking in consistency.

"So. The bloodthirsty Queens are dead, their forces slain to the last, and our foes have added little over half a dozen battleships to their line. Two of which have arms that were merely a glimmer in the eye in our time." She drew glassy circles in the sand with a bare toe as she continued caressing her aide. "They couldn't have made a bigger mess of this had they tried."

A stone melting giggle escaped Tosa's lips.

"Oh, yes. I quite agree."

The Empress' aid would have been wasted on them. Those Queens were useful as sledgehammers and perhaps as a breeding ground for demons. And sometimes indiscriminate slaughter and birthing hellspawn was all that mattered.

Other times... Had there been some foresight and a little extra planning, she was confident that Hawaii would have turned out rather different. Giving the enemy a pyrrhic victory instead of allowing a total rout for one. Not raising their morale and drive to nearly unprecedented levels for another. But that opportunity had come and gone. On to other, more important things.

Growing her own fleet for one.

Tosa granted her dear aide release from her touch and gestured towards the settlements they had made their own.

"Make certain everything is on schedule. Motivate them if you need." She spun about, her hair dancing in the breeze. "But do remember their limits are far beneath our own."

She saw the salute and departure without ever laying an eye upon it, knowing full well her orders would be carried out. In spirit and in reality. Such a wonderful subordinate.

Sand gave way to lush flora as she took a winding path from the beach to a nice, secluded inland lake. It hadn't been all that useful when she'd taken the region. In fact it would have been useful as nothing more than a place to bathe. But that was nothing some hard work couldn't fix. She was actually quite proud of what had been made of it.

What had been a measly little puddle was now a beautiful breeding ground for her expanding fleet. Once pristine blue waters now shimmered with blood, oil, and malevolent flotsam. All along the edges lounged a cornerstone of her grand scheme.

Abyssal Princesses.

A full six of these vile creatures had answered her call. Answered with glee, desperation, and wicked intention. Answers that now allowed them to enjoy the benefits of swearing themselves to her cause. None of them were combat worthy. Not in any way that mattered. But she had given them purpose outside of being useless tonnage to pad the enemy's reserves.

All they had to do was birth demons for her. Endlessly. So long as they did that, she would ensure their needs were tended to.

And they did so with vigor.

In their own berths along the shores of the Abyssal lake, these Princesses lay in various states of distention.

Numerous demons milled about the pool near their mothers.

While she favored quality over quantity, she was not so foolish as to disregard the quality of quantity itself. Even more so when it became apparent that it was far more cost effective to let her fleet fight itself rather than throwing newborns and seasoned monsters alike at the shipgirl and human fleets. One poor engagement would waste too much time and too many resources for potentially no gain whatsoever. It would also grant the enemy the resources and experience they needed to wage war.

Completely unacceptable.

Old, useless strategies had to be set aside.

She would still have her glorious battle. But she knew her limitations and would plan around them.

A screech of tearing steel mixed with the violent howls of a Princess in labor drew Tosa away from her thoughts. She noted this particular Princess' swollen form was far larger than was what might pass for normal. Either a multiple birth was on the way or something far more... potent.

Tosa would not complain one way or the other. An addition was an addition regardless of the number. She could sort out the logistics once she knew more.

A few of the other Princesses had turned from their own tasks to watch, but more out of a morbid sense of curiosity than anything resembling camaraderie or concern.

Tosa shifted her stance to something more comfortable as she placed a finger to her chin. The meaty, grinding cacophony being spewed out by the Abyssal was merely background noise to her. Her focus lay in how the Princess' body was faring in this birth. Fatigue hadn't really been a concern in setting up, but perhaps her subordinates simply hadn't been pushed that hard until now. She would have to see what may have been different in the conception.

Sufficient experimentation had given her an idea of what mixture of components were more likely to lead to one sort of demon over another. But there were always outliers. And the mother involved always introduced her own influences.

Her own demons had tended towards Japanese manufacture, but there had been a decent number of British in there as well. Perhaps a lingering legacy.

They all had been reduced to scrap however, so there was nothing left to dissect or otherwise analyze. And she wasn't really in a good position at the moment to take up the role these old hulks had joyously thrown themselves into. Soon, yes. But not at the moment. It would introduce delays that were not favorable to the timetable.

Timetables that could be adjusted. But did the costs outweigh the gains? Thoughts to mull over later when she could devote appropriate attention.

For now...

Tosa's fiery eyes widened as she watched the Princess crush a nearby demon to pulp beneath her now flailing hands. A ear splitting roar tore the throat as the convulsions intensified. Finally, metal gave way with a horrific screeching before a massive eruption of black steel spewed into the toxic pool of murky, rusty red.

While the Princess lay twitching and seemingly unresponsive, the newborn mass clambered towards the surface.

Gnashing teeth and flailing arms tore into the air. Any demons caught in the maelstrom of limbs were torn apart and consumed without mercy. It only took a spark of intelligence to know that being in range of this beast was to invite a horrific death. The screams of the dying reached high into the heavens.

Tosa smiled broadly, cracking the air around her as she kicked aside the mutilated head of a demon that had wound up being flung in her direction.

Oh, this would do nicely.

She snapped her fingers and her dear aide was at her side almost instantly, dripping entrails dangling from one hand. It looks like some of the livestock had decided to fight. Their loss. A treat for her fleet.

"See to it that she is fed and educated. I think we have been given something of a rare blessing today." She offered an approving glance towards the still twitching Princess. "And make certain she is rewarded accordingly."

Tosa spun on her heel and began making her way deeper into the island. There were plans to adjust and information to disseminate.

Before she had taken more than a handful of steps, she paused.

Perhaps... Yes. It was a joyous development. The occasion warranted a little fun.

May as well celebrate.

"And when you are done. Come see me."

Her minion saluted.

Sometimes imitating humans could be so very, very enjoyable~

* * *

 **Editor's Note:** Hello everyone. Hope you enjoyed the update, however short it was. Thing's havn't been going well for my health (understatement), so Fanfiction has been far from my mind. Well, either way that should end within the next few months, for better or for worse.

A reminder; if you don't like the way this story is going, or if you DO, be sure to review. However, keep in mind that I do not write this stuff, and it is often heavily influenced by other members of the SpaceBattles forums, not just OldIron and theJMPer. You are also missing out on a LOT of content that I do not post here, and you can read things in original format. That said, I like seeing how many people from all across the world visit, so do as you wish ;)

Be sure to review! Caboose out


	47. Omake: Wolfbait News

**_Uploader's Note: Newspaper delivery! Omake By LostJMan. Remember, like all omake, this is not necessarily Canon (but not non-canon unless otherwise stated) Curiously enough, try remembering that Ari originally started as an omake. More for y'all at the end._**

* * *

 _ **Stow Sentry**_

 **December 9th, 2015**

 **Munroe Falls Man to Participate in Wedding Between Admiral and Battleship**

 **By Karen McPherson**

* * *

As the world tunes in to the highly-anticipated wedding between Admiral John Richardson of the United States Navy and battleship _Mutsu_ of the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force, the Stow-Munroe Falls area has much more reason to be interested, as one of our local heroes bears witness to this incredible historical event.

James Hunter, a Munroe Falls resident and graduate of the high school's Class of 2013, enlisted in the Navy and became a submariner to defend the country and all mankind against aggression from the so-called 'Abyssals', when it seemed few would rise up to the challenge.

"I saw the news and I was like 'I can't just sit here and wait to be killed in a riot,'" Hunter said, when interviewed over Skype. "So I got myself into shape and went over to the recruiting office. My family thankfully understood why I was doing this, for the most part."

Hunter was assigned to be a sonarman aboard the USS _Seawolf_ , an advanced attack submarine developed towards the end of the Cold War. "Whatever power they're using to interfere with our weapons doesn't affect the sheer number we carry," he explained, while discussing his service. "We've managed to sink a few ships, mostly lighter ones, but most of our missions involve more classified objectives, even if I feel that Jimmy Carter should be handling those."

The _Jimmy Carter_ was a _Seawolf_ -class taken and given extensive, top-secret modifications by the CIA. However, many American submarines carry out operations that only their crews and superiors will know about, sworn to absolute secrecy. Hunter has served on active duty for more than 18 months, making his appointment as a groomsman for Admiral Richardson a surprise.

"When we got the news that Richardson was marrying one of the girls under his command, it came off as unsurprising. We had heard rumors that they had feelings for one another, so I suppose it was an inevitability that the two would marry. But the most surprising part was that I was chosen to be one of the groomsmen. I was expecting an officer from a surface ship to receive that role, not a lowly sonarman."

Rumors had been circulating around US Fleet Activities Sasebo, where Richardson was stationed and commanding, that he and one of the so-called 'Ship-Girls' under his command, _Mutsu_ , were in a relationship. The wedding announcement came alongside one that _Mutsu_ had become pregnant with twins, sending shockwaves through the scientific and religious communities.

Admiral Richardson could not be reached for a statement, the _Stow Sentry's_ calls instead being answered by another one of the ships under his command.

 **See: Wedding, Pg. 3  
**  
 _(To be continued...)_

* * *

 **Also an Omake, this by 'LadyPearl' (a well written kancolle author here on Fanfiction, under the name of 'QueenPearl' !)**

* * *

 _"Okay, I have to do this!"_

 _-LadyPearl_

* * *

Hunter was busy listening for Ashigara when he heard someone singing.

 _"And I'm hungry like the wolf...The wolf.. oh yeah!"  
_  
Frowning, he checked to see if it was his girlfriend. The cruiser found him once totally by surprise, she could totally do so again. But he found nothing on the scope. "Okay..." He flicked a switch to run a diagnostic, still thinking it was Ashigara who was singing and his equipment was faulty due to MSSB. But as soon as he flipped the switch, the switch flipped back on its own.

"What the..." He flipped it again, and once again it flipped back. Now very annoyed, he grasped the switch with the tips of his fingers and held it down. And felt something cold slap him on the wrist.

"...No, no! Leave it! I know what I'm doing!" The voice was female and very, _very_ commanding. Reflexively he sat a little straighter in his seat. "Yes ma'am!" He barked. Before his eyes caught up with his mouth. And he noticed that there was a hand that slapped him, a pale white hand that was connected to a long arm with beefy muscles. Slowly he turned around.

She stood 6 foot even, her head craned down a bit to ensure she had plenty of clearance to the ceiling. And she had the build of a fighter. Powerful muscles lined her shoulders and back. Hunter didn't dare look farther down than her chest as she wasn't wearing much, just a anti-fouling red one piece swimsuit which was extremely tight around the chest. Her light brown hair was allowed to fall freely about her shoulders, the ends noticeably wet. The stench of salt water permeated from her every pour. Hunter resisted the urge to put his face in his palms but he did groan. And just when he thought his life wasn't whacked up enough! MSSB was a cruel, _cruel_ mistress!

"Seawolf, I presume."

"Hello there!" She grinned, offering him a big smile. "Oh, your girlfriend's 200 miles north-northwest. Bearing 290."

Before he could open his mouth to say something, she vanished. Just poof, disappeared. "Stinking submarines," He grumbled, cursing the MSSB that had invaded and taken over his life! But when he turned back to his display sure enough he saw a steady line showing a heavy cruiser at the exact distance and the exact course that Seawolf had indicated.

"Okay, time to do a little hunting of my own," He muttered as he began the track.

 _"And I'm hungry like the wolf~!"  
_  
He groaned again and this time he did face-palm when he heard the captain yell "Who are you and what the (EXPLETIVE) are you doing in my stateroom!"

Today was not going to be a boring day, that was for sure!

* * *

 **2nd Uploader's Note: Caboose here! I felt bad for not putting up anything recently...I'm not dead, I swear ( _mostly_ _dead_ is quite different). Thank you, for those of you who reviewed the last few chapters, both positive and negative. I decided that with yet _another_ Abyssal boss being written (by theJUMper, mind you) having a funny/cute omake would be great. The first was posted on the forums, and LadyPearl in their amazingness "Had to do this!".**

 **Anyways, we are just around 160k words, and while the 85/93 Fav/Follows are not _quite_ what Belated Battleships has (this matters, since there's a lot more people who don't know about this, for better or for worse), but it's really started increasing.**

 **Personal update; the universe has been _really_ determined to screw me over, from barely getting through classes (only partly due to medical stuff) to early morning training weekends on Saturdays I had thought I could sleep in on (not that _this_ kind of training isn't fun, who doesn't like M67 and M69 grenade training?!), but I decided to get this in soon after.**

 **So, with all that said, review whatever positive/negative feedback you have. As always, I don't really care since _I don't write it (_ might get something of my own on here though!).**

 **Caboose out**


	48. Chapter 38: Uniformly Improper

**Uploader's Note: Hello, CabooseHelpsU here, and I come bearing an update! I don't normally put these here at the beginning, so you guys get two! I just wanted to say that if it feels like there are some things that happened "Behind the scenes", as it were, you would be correct. There are multitudes of omake, funny comments that actually sparked many canon elements, and excellent art; all of it can be found at the SpaceBattles page for Belated Battleships 2: The Battleshippening. Seriously, just look that up and find the more recent threadmarks. Oooor, don't, so I don't go out of business!**

 **Well, more for you at the bottom, with something special (I think). This chapter was brought to you by Old Iron.**

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Arizona allowed herself to stare up at the ceiling of the docks, a feeling of renewal washing over her along with a strength and vigor she hadn't experienced in over three-quarters of a century. There was an eagerness running rampant through her crew that she shared. They wanted so badly to see just how far they could push her systems. And she would more than welcomed the challenge. A challenge denied to her the last time she'd worn her steel as such.

She reached upwards, feeling muscle, cable, and steel stretching to accommodate their rebuilt mountings. A smile grew as she made a fist that held far more might than she'd ever held before. Her guns would sing a song like no other to the Abyss and they would know regret.

Her gaze fell from the rafters and lights of the ceiling and to her outstretched arm.

Surprise would have drawn a gasp, but she remained silent as she traced the lines of scar tissue down the outstretched limb. They were different now. Fewer in number and reduced in severity, but more... solid. As though the marks painted onto her were being washed away to leave behind what truly belonged to her.

Part of her mind considered it to be rather fascinating. Yet another mark to how unusual she was as a shipgirl. Less now than before, but still not quite what would pass as normal. Assuming she would ever dare claim there was such a thing as a normal shipgirl.

Another part of her mind told her she aught to stop ogling herself and get out of the water. It was far more fun to do so in front of a mirror. A full length one where she could see everything.

Maddie was promptly tossed into the brig of her mind.

"I daresay she's going to be far more trouble now than before..."

"Oh? Who's going to be trouble?" A voice chimed in. "Can't be me. I'm no trouble at all. Nope."

Arizona blinked.

She knew that voice.

"Welcome back, sleepyhead," chimed Hiei with what she could only describe as an audible smile. "You broke the standing record for longest refit. So, congratulations!"

"Is that something to be congratulated for?" asked Arizona as she pulled herself to her feet. Each motion gave a sliver of resistance, but ultimately faded as her body settled in. She would definitely need to go out for a trial run to get all the kinks out. And it would feel nice to stretch her legs again. "Is Akashi about?"

Hiei waved her hand and tossed a towel to Arizona. "Nah. She has other fish to fry. Literally and figuratively. It's almost dinnertime after all. She did tell me if you woke up that you were free to go."

"Hmm... I am rather hungry, now that you mention it." The raging of her empty bunkers and ammo stores was quite hard to ignore. It wasn't the debilitating pain she had heard New Jersey and Washington had suffered through, but it was certainly not something she would tolerate any longer than need be.

Thoughts of her dreamland donuts began to swim about as she dried herself.

"We can grab a bite to eat on the way home. I'm pretty peckish myself. Or we could wait until we get home and enjoy some home cooking." Hiei walked over to Arizona and have an appraising once-over of the American. "Though I'm pretty sure you should get dressed first. Wearing just a dinky towel might not be enough."

Arizona froze, the cloth nearly dropping from suddenly unresponsive fingers.

"I mean, I'm not complaining and I can think of a few others who wouldn't either. Buuuut, I think the MP's, exposure laws, and your prudish tendencies would disagree."

Arizona completely agreed with the second half of Hiei's statement. Without question. There was one tiny little problem however. Two, actually. The first being she couldn't remember where her clothes were. And the second if they would still fit if she found them.

"Ari?"

"I... don't have anything to wear." Her face burned at the admission and she was positive Maddie was getting a good chuckle in at her expense.

"Oh, right. Minor detail. But don't you worry!" Hiei thumped her chest in a display of confidence. "I gotcha covered. Never underestimate a Kongou."

"That fills me with more concern than it does reassurance."

Hiei stuck her tongue out like the mature adult she was.

"No, seriously. I do actually have a change of clothes for you. Gimme a sec." Hiei dashed off to parts unknown, leaving Arizona to finish drying herself off.

"That woman. Honestly."

She shook her head in feigned exasperation and finished drying herself.

For all the varying experiences she'd had in her dreams, she did quite miss being with her family and friends. Nothing would replace the real deal after all. It would be nice to see everyone again. To find out what she'd missed while she was out.

Good and bad.

Before a shade could fall over her heart at the thought of how Pearl had fared, Hiei came barreling around the same corner she'd disappeared from. There was a duffel bag in one hand and a box in the other. A very distinct scent emanated from the box and Arizona felt her mouth begin to water. Could it be?

"And the mighty Hiei returns! Bearing gifts of fine linens and foods of the divine!" She held up her offerings with a wide smile to Arizona. "Kinda forgot I brought the donuts just in case. Actually, everyone brought some when they came to visit. You know, just in case."

"I appreciate the thought, even if I could not partake at the time." She took the duffel bag first, leaving the donuts behind. No matter how much her stomach growled, there would be clothes first. Then she could enjoy the donuts on the way home. A mischievous smirk crossed her features. "I suppose I should find out what everyone brought so I can make up for missing out."

"Please leave some for the rest of the country?"

"I shall consider it."

Hiei laughed and it didn't take much for her to join in as well. It felt good to laugh with her friend and rival again.

But for now, clothes.

"You want to change in the locker room?" asked Hiei, thumbing over in the direction of said location with her now free hand?

Arizona shook her head.

"There's no real need. And it's not like we haven't all changed in front of each other at some point or another." She blinked after the admission, pausing in her reach for the contents of the duffel. Either she had simply grown so used to living with everyone, fighting with everyone, and just being so close, that something like this didn't really bother her all that much anymore or Maddie was influencing her again.

Maybe both.

"Well, that is true." Hiei shrugged and eyed the donut box dangerously. "And it's not like our clothes don't get torn to shreds in combat anyway."

"Not to change the subject, but this... is not my uniform." Arizona held up the blue dress shirt she had retrieved. "I don't recall owning anything like this either."

"Oh, right. That happens sometimes."

"Pardon?"

"Blame Davy Jones, the powers that be, or your crew for that." Hiei tugged at her shirt as she spoke. "Sometimes when a shipgirl gets a refit, their uniform gets a bit of a face-lift. Usually to reflect their refit in some way. You can still dress up in your old uniform, but it's not your real uniform anymore. Make sense?"

"Not... really."

"Just blame the magical bullshit. Makes life a lot easier."

Arizona sighed and continued dressing. When a Kongou made a suggestion to accept the madness and move on, it was hard to refute. The entire class was almost their own branch of metaphysics according to far too many sources for it to be coincidence. Supposedly Haruna was the... sanest of the four. But that remained to be seen.

"So, I have some good news for you."

"What is it?" Arizona glanced up as she pulled up one of her stockings. Her questioning glance turned into a deathly glare as she noticed Hiei making motions to pilfer a donut. Motions that seemed to exist solely to draw her ire if that catty grin was any indication.

Hiei twirled about and took a seat next to her.

"Weeeell, we took back Pearl. It was a hard won battle, but it was won in the end."

Arizona's heart skipped a beat.

"I can give you the nitty gritty on the way home, but we made them pay in spades. And got a few new friends out of the deal. Or old. New old friends." Hiei gave Arizona a friendly pat on the back. "You'll be happy to hear about them one way or another. Your grump of a sister, too."

"I... I am looking forward to it." She was going to grill Hiei for every scrap of information she had. There was no way she'd miss out on anything. Was it just her or was this new uniform a bit on the tight side? "How is Pennsylvania doing by the way? I was a bit worried when I went under."

The snort of laughter gave her pause. What happened?

"Your dear pain in the ass of a sister now has no fewer than three destroyers following her around when she isn't trying to whip Mutsu and Yamashiro into something suitable to stand in a standard battle line. And I'm stealing one by the way." Hiei made good on that before Arizona could even think to stop her. A single glazed donut had a healthy bite taken out of it without mercy and all the standard could do was glare. "But she's doing good all things considered. She did throw Kawakaze and Teruzuki into a lake for being little shits though. And teased your daughter for something silly. Dunno what though."

"No doubt Shimakaze tried to bite off more than she could chew." Arizona rolled her eyes as she pulled on her gloves. Yes, this was definitely too tight. Either she'd gained a fair bit of displacement in her refit or her new uniform was not properly sized. She would have to see about getting this corrected. "I am glad Pennsy is finding ways of keeping herself... grounded. I do want to know more about this training she's doing."

"I'll tell you about Pearl first." Hiei bounded to her feet. "Ready?"

Arizona took to her feet a slight bit slower than her friend. The way the uniform moved was not entirely to her liking.

"Okay, this is far too small."

"What is?"

"This uniform. Most of it is fine, bu-" She was cut off as a button straining to keep her blouse closed finally gave up the ghost and snapped. It shot across the dockyard like a shell from her own rifles and impacted the far wall with an audible clang.

"Damn." Hiei blinked. "I'm not sure whether to be impressed or to start laughing."

"I will fix this when I get home. At least my coat fits properly." Arizona growled out as she donned her ever present greatcoat, ignoring Hiei's quip. At least that her coat remained unchanged. Her new uniform would take some getting used to, but sizing aside, it wasn't too bad. Though she would not be surprised if Mutsu had a hand in it's design. "I'd just like to get home right now."

"Yeah. I'm not a fan of hanging around the docks more than I have to." She thrust the box of donuts into Arizona's arms and began making her way to the door. "I drove, so enjoy the luxury of a Kongou-class chauffeur~"

"This too, concerns me."

"Hey!"

The drive home wasn't anything particularly special, but the revelations certainly were.

Between the summoning of Battleship Row, the summoning of Missouri and Wisconsin in loadouts that were decades more advanced than anything she could have dreamed of in her day, and yet more details on Pennsylvania having unknowingly adopted several Japanese destroyers, Arizona wasn't sure she could take much more. Any one of those reveals would have sent her mind into a tizzy. But all three was almost more than she could take. And she wasn't even sure which one was more shocking than the other.

"You gonna be okay?"

"I will manage. It is... a lot to take in to be perfectly honest." That was putting it mildly. "I'm having a hard time believing it's all real. I went to sleep for, what did you say? How many weeks? And come back to find so much has changed. "

"Yeah. Kinda scary how fast things can move sometimes."

"At this rate, you're going to tell me Mutsu gave John free reign to name their children." It wouldn't surprise her at all either. Not with all the bombshells she'd been tossed since waking up. In fact that might be one of the less surprising things to happen.

"Nah. There's surprising and then there's legit impossible." Hiei pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. "Ashigara did go fishing for her boyfriend though."

That didn't quite sound right.

"Fishing for?"

"She used her anchor to try and snag the submarine he's stationed on. Apparently Pennsylvania got her the info as an apology for treating her like a sack of potatoes at the wedding." Hiei put a finger to her chin. "Wolfie got one hell of a talking to, but I think she was too happy to care."

"From what you've told me of her curse, I suppose so."

"John might be able to tell you more over dinner. He tends to pick up all sorts of strange info. And if he doesn't know..."

"Then Jintsuu absolutely will."

They shared a look of amusement as they approached the door.

When Hiei began fishing through her pockets with increasingly frantic movements, Arizona got the hint that something was not quite right.

"Did you perhaps forget your house key?"

"Eheh... Maybe?" Hiei admitted rather sheepishly. "I usually keep the car keys separate from the house keys and Jintsuu said she'd lock up after me. I don't suppose you have yours?"

Arizona shook her head. She'd left all her accessories and whatnot at home when John had taken her to the docks for her refit. It may have been for the better given the misplacement of her original uniform.

Well, there was nothing stopping them from knocking.

She gave three sharp raps against the wooden portal and smiled slightly when footfalls began sounding soon after. Along with a little bit of commotion. But it was a response nonetheless.

The door unlatched and swung open to reveal... an unknown individual. There was not one single thing that she recognized about this person.

Tall, absolutely. In all likelihood the brunette would tower over anyone else on base right now. Easily a full head, maybe two, taller than herself. Not that she herself was exactly gifted in the height department, but still.

"Oh! Miss Arizona. Miss Hiei. Welcome home."

"Ah... thank you?" replied Arizona cautiously. She noted out of the corner of her eye that Hiei seemed to have frozen in place. After a moment to shake out the cobwebs, she straightened her back. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but who are you and how do you know who we are? And far more importantly, what are you doing in our home?"

Had this not been at the doorstep to her home, she might have also raised concern about that hipless skirt. If this stranger wore anything more scandalous, she'd be on par with Mutsu. And that was no small feat!

The woman blushed in what appeared to be embarrassment before for bowing in apology.

"My apologies. That was rude of me. I simply wished to be of some assistance now that I will be entrusting myself to yours and Admiral Richardson's care for the foreseeable future." She stood upright once more and folded her hands in front of her.

"By... opening the door?" Arizona's disbelief was palpable and Hiei now bore more of a resemblance to a statue than a living person. If she gave her a decent poke, she would not be surprised if Hiei simply toppled over like she was in some sort of cartoon. She shook her head. "Never mind that. What is this about being in our care?"

"There are... certain circumstances involved. I can tell you more inside."

"Yes. I would very much like to hear this." Arizona narrowed her eyes. "In great detail, miss?"

The woman gave a smile and stood aside for Arizona to enter the home. "I am the first of the Yamato class battleships, Yamato. I hope to not be too much trouble."

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 **Uploader's Note: Well, how about that? On the forums, JMPer said that he would NEVER introduce Yamato to the story. When asked about it, he said this: "** _No, you were told I wasn't going to introduce her. I never said anything about what Iron's gonna do~_ "

 **So yeah, I'm sure you were all wondering about that. Gonna post some more comments to give you all an idea on how the writing works, and to give a good laugh. These often count as canon, just behind the scenes. Like, just who _is_ Maddie?**

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"At this point I'm more worried about where everyone is sleeping in Richardson's house."

Hiei: See, I sleep with John and Mutsu. That frees up a lot of space.  
Richardson: Wait. What?  
Arizona: * _facepalm_ * I'm not surprised anymore.  
Yamato: * _fierce blush_ *

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*Furiously scribbles re-writes*  
Also, where the f*ck did Yamato come from!?

Jane: * _hides summoning chamber mk2_ *

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"Okay Oyoodo, I've got good news and bad news."  
"Good news first for a change."  
"We can finally transfer Masashi to the Americans with minimal political consequences. We don't have to feed her anymore."  
*Single tear of joy rolls down her cheek*  
"We have to feed Yamato instead."  
*Tears of joy and rage*

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And Richardson journey to harem side is complete.

Richardson: It's not a harem! Or a fleet!  
Mutsu: No. Definitely not.  
Richardson: Thank you. Tha-  
Mutsu: We don't have nearly enough ships to qualify. This is more of a flotilla.

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 **And there's Plenty more where that came from!** **Alright, this has been long enough, Caboose out!**


	49. Chapter 39: Love and Consequences

**Uploader's Note: Uuuuh, sorry for being away for a time. There's plenty of content out now, so things should be smooth sailing from here. Oh, erm, this chapter needs a warning for being rated M. Nothing 'happens' happens, but it's not for the faint of heart. So yeah, sorta sexual/nudity content here. Oh, it also deals with mother-hood problems. Horror/Fluff whiplash, not in that particular order. You've been warned, mwhahaha.**

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Battleship Mutsu squinted into the refrigerator's single tiny bulb and cradled her achingly swollen belly with two gloved hands. She'd managed almost seven consecutive minutes of sleep before the twin anchors growing so rapidly in her stomach announced in no uncertain terms that it was time for dinner.

She bit her lip, absentmindedly cooing a wordless hymn to sooth her unusually active twins while she looked for the precious salve to her gnawing craving. Her twins hadn't just woken her up, they'd made it clear that they wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for their nightcap, and Mutsu was too tired and hungry to put up any resistance.

But the moment her hand left her belly, before it'd even started to reach for the grape jelly Jane liked so much, Mutsu had a thought. Her instincts had been wrong! She wasn't in the mood for a PB&J, she was…

Well, she _was_. But instead of peanut butter, she wanted a nice thick hamburger patty. And instead of jelly, she had an almost overwhelming craving for fresh romaine and thick-sliced tomato.

Okay, so she was actually craving a burger. That was an easy enough fix. She grunted, the disproportionate bulge of her belly—not to mention its immense weight. Her twins were pushing fifteen pounds a piece last time Akashi gave her a checkup—made reaching the meat drawer an event in itself. But at last she closed her fingers around the handle…

And immediately realized that she wasn't really in the mood for a burger. Actually, just the pickles would do fine. Pickles were delicious… pickle _juice_ was delicious. That was it, that was what she wanted for her midnight snack. A nice glass of chilled pickle juice.

So what if Jintsuu thought it was a strange drink? Mutsu was far to pregnant to care. She popped the top off the jar without a hint of effort and let it go skidding across the floor. The aroma was almost intoxicating as she brought the jar to her lips and—

—and almost immediately spat the juice back out. Pickle juice was _disguising!_ Why had she thought that'd make a good snack. Mutsu scowled, and put the open jar back in the fringe. She'd pick up the lid in a moment, but for the time being she leaned against the counter and just… stood there.

Right now all she was craving was _not_ hauling herself back up those stairs to John's bed. She might be a good few months away from her due date, but she certainly _felt_ full enough to pop. Actually, that was a lie. Judging from how sluggish and bloated she felt, she should've popped _months_ ago. She didn't want to bother John either. Her husband was burning the candle at twenty-seven ends just keeping his corner of the war effort from spiraling out of control. He'd earned his rest, even if she couldn't have any.

"suuu". A very quiet noise wafted up from the floor. Jintsuu's tiny little duplicate stood on the toe of Mutsu's boot. A somewhat bigger simulacrum of a snow-haired ship Mutsu'd never seen before stood a bit further away, the discarded pickle lid held over her head with both tiny hands.

"Thanks," said Mutsu, holding the refrigerator door open to let the two small boats clean up after her.

"Suu!"

The snow-haired girl said nothing, but her placid, expressionless face was calming in a way words could never describe.

"Z-zona?" a tentative murmur drew Mutsu's attention to the kitchen counter. Arizona's duplicate stood with a chocolate-frosted donuts held around her waist like a life preserver. The little redhead looked from her donut to Mutsu and back. Again the squence repeated itself. Then with one last mournful look at the confection, Smolzona set her donuts down and stepped back out of the hole. "Zona."

Mutsu smiled, and reached down to pat the subscale standard's head with a single finger. "Thank you."

—|—|—

Captain Mike Aaron woke with a gasp. His cell was a dark, dank place that reeked of salt and rotting shellfish and rusted iron. The walls were coated with a thick slime of equal parts algae muck and congealed blood.

At the crooked door stood a what he'd come to known as a guard. The figure—if you wanted to call it that—might've once been a man. But that was decades ago, at least. Its body was a ragged collection of weathered bone and waterlogged flesh gnawed into unrecognizable ribbons. The moldy rags draped over its skeletal form were identifiable only as some form of uniform, and the top-fed machine gun in its bony fingers was too rusted and encrusted with barnacles to identify. Save of course, for the wickedly sharp bayonet hanging off the end.

"I won't tell you anything," said the Captain.

The rattle of bones in the sweltering tropical breeze was the only noise the guard made. It was enough. Aaron filed out on his captor's orders, lacing his fingers behind his head as the abyssal soldiers lead him deeper into the bunker complex. They slogged through knee-deep water thick with… with things Aaron thought it better to block from his mind.

Then with to splashing steps the guard led him out of the muck and to a vast arching door devoid of the decay pervading the rest of the compound. Two more soldiers stood at attention by the threshold, and the guard who'd led him this far slung his machine gun and cranked open the door.

Inside was… her. The Princess. Tosa.

She sat back in a vast open pool, her enormous arms splayed out along the pool's perimeter. The water was still as glass against her massive breasts, and far too clear to hid any of her inhumanly vast body. She was still as a corpse when he walked in, her chest didn't even rise and fall with her nonexistent breathing.

"Come," she said. Her voice was alluring and grating all the same, eyes the color of liquid fire gazed blindly into nothing. Her inky black ponytail was gathered to the side and it draped around her shoulder like a snake. "You must long for a bath."

Aaron gulped. "Aaron, Michael K," he said through gritted teeth.

"Yes yes," said the Princess. She stood, water rippling off her titanic form. She was naked as the day she was born, her immense curves on shameless display as she strode through the now thigh-deep water towards him.

By all rights, it should've been sexy. She was curvy, her hips swayed with each step, her mouth hung open just the slightest degree. Every detail was—if he had to describe it—exactly what a vixen should do.

But it was all so wrong. Her skin was the color of death, her gaze drifted aimlessly from point to point and it was clear their presence on her horned face was purely ornamental. Her every motion was… _off_. She moved like a corpse turned marionette animated by a third-rate puppeteer.

"Captain," Aaron forced the words past his lips. "United States Navy."

"Enough of that, my love," the princess raised a talon the size of his forearm and gently stroked it down his cheek. "You wouldn't dine with me dressed like that, hmm?"

Aaron gulped. The metal of her finger was cold as ice against this skin. Her breath was colder still. He winced with every drop of perfume-laded water that dripped off her onto him. Even up to her thighs in the pool she towered over him. "W-what?"

"Bathe," she grabbed him around the waist like a toy and threw him into the water. "Surely you wouldn't come to your lover's table in such a state?"

The water was frigid, and by the time he was able to claw his way back to the crystal-clear surface Captain Aaron was frozen to the bone. It was a bitter, leaching kind of cold that attacked his body with an almost sadistic malevolence. He flailed for the edge of the pool, scrambling to haul himself back out before massive iron claws tightened around his waist.

"Not so soon," said Tosa with what would've been a purr if her voice had the slightest hint of warmth or life. Her enormous breasts pressed against his legs, cold and stiff as a corpse in the depths of rigor mortise.

She cradled his back in one hand, holding him like a treasured doll while her free hand stroked from his chin down his chest. The razor-sharp edge of her ragged talon sliced through the fabric of his coveralls and peeled them away like ribbons. Lips vastly too big for him parted, revealing a smile stitched of ragged shards of twisted carbon-blackened metal.

The princess closed her eyes and leaned forwards. She rolled her massive hips, sweeping her inhuman chest around him like the rollers of an automatic car wash. "You must wash, my love." She reached over to a trough beside the pool, gingerly retrieving a tiny cake of tallow soap.

It reeked of ash and scoured his skin like ground glass, but the princess was unrelenting. She pinned him against the edge of the pool with one massive talon, scrubbing him with the other and occasionally dragging him under for and thrashing him about to rinse off.

It should've been counted as torture. Hell, if you asked any international court they'd probably say it _was_ torture. But somehow, Captain Aaron got the distinct impression that the royal abyssal was honestly trying to clean him up. She might not have the slightest concern for his comfort during the process, but she wasn't deliberately trying to harm him.

"There," she released her grasp, letting him fight back his breath. She raised her hand and snapped her talons with a thunderous metal-on-metal crash. One of her silent, skeletal attendants appeared at the side of the pool and draped…

Draped a set of Navy dress whites by the side of the pool. A set of whites with Admiral's stars on the shoulders.

"Dress," she purred, letting herself glide back to her side of the pool.

"I'm not a—"

"Dress!" She roared, her voice devoid of even painfully twisted attempts at sultry honey.

Aaron shuddered and scampered out of the pool. It wasn't like he had a choice. The grubby coveralls he'd been wearing since his capture were torn ribbons laying at the bottom of the pool. It was the whites or nothing, and the animal part of his brain was screaming that going naked around the princess would only end badly for him.

By the time he'd dressed, the princess was gone.

Rear Admiral John Richardson was alone when he woke up. It wasn't an unusual occurrence, Mutsu was a light sleeper at the best of times, and with her pregnancy and the many bizarre cravings—even for a battleship—that came with it she spent a good portion of her nights in front of the refrigerator.

Recently, she'd curl up on the couch downstairs instead of coming back to bed. She'd never made a fuss, but John could tell from the way she grunted when she ascended that hauling herself and her twins up the stairs was starting to become an ordeal. He'd seen it before with Langley, although Jane hadn't been nearly as heavy as Mary and Mirai. Of course, his first wife hadn't been a battleship, so he imagined it balanced things out.

The Admiral knew his wife was missing without needing to open his eyes. Mutsu was so often the first to rise—and always careful not to wake him, even with her graceful balance thrown utterly out of whack—that he'd had ample time to hone his senses. There were several clues to the absence of the littlest Nagato.

Mutsu's sweet sent sill lingered, John could sense his wife's natural perfume of oiled metal, ripe apples, and fresh-baked bread, but only just. It wasn't nearly as entrancing as when she slept beside him. The gentle rhythmic purr of her breathing was gone too, along with the dozen muffled noises of a ship laying peacefully at anchor.

Most significantly of course, he wasn't falling into the vast concavity Mutsu's literally inconceivable weight punched into the mattress. It'd taken all of Akashi's ingenuity to design a bed that could handle the two of them without trouble, and even then it'd needed a few repairs after…

Well, after John put a pair of buns in Mutsu's oven.

Speaking of baked goods, the Admiral of Sasebo was hungry for breakfast. It was a constant nowadays. With Mutsu eating everything that wasn't nailed down—often in bizarre combinations that even Shimakaze looked askance at—and Albie stealing everything that _was_ , the Admiral was used to feeling mildly peckish all day.

Yamato's arrival had actually improved things on that front. The super-battleship was a wizard in the kitchen—when she wasn't getting her hips stuck between the counter and island. There was a Panama joke in there somewhere **(lol)**. In fact, judging from the smell wafting up the stairs, Yamato was already hard at work on breakfast.

"OOOOOOU!" A Doppler-shifted noise that could be not unfairly likened to a thoroughly lubricated seal shoved into the breech of a frighteningly large rifle preceded the blurry image of a blond-haired destroyer screaming past his door, but not by much. Yes, it was definitely breakfast, and if he didn't hurry Shimakaze was going to eat all the strawberries. Albie had convinced the scantily-clad destroyer that strawberries made her run faster, and Richardson had no desire to know why.

He sat up with a yawn and padded barefoot down the stairs. It was still dark out, but the rising sun was just visible over the horizon. Shimakaze and Jane were already huddled around the kitchen island, but John's interest was drawn in a different direction.

His battleship wife lay asleep on the couch. Well, mostly. Her belly—which was honestly comically ponderous now—was only half-supported by the worn out old couch. Luckily, someone had pushed an ottoman to help distribute the load.

Richardson didn't dare wake her up. Mutsu got so little sleep nowadays that he'd give her every chance to nap she could find. But… she looked so _peaceful_. So content with a smile on her face—the rare kind of Mutsu smile that wasn't a portent of some kind of ploy to sass him—and her hands cradling her unborn twins. He could stare at her for hours if—

"Mu!" The miniature simulacrum of Mutsu glared as angrily at him as her tiny features would allow. Minimu sat splayed-leg atop the genuine article's swollen belly. Judging by the half-finished bag of mini marshmallows, she was trying to stuff herself until her figure matched Mutsu's. Thus far it wasn't working.

Richardson cocked an eyebrow at the little thing.

"Muuuuuuu!" Minimu waved one of her tiny, stumpy little arms, jabbing the other directly ahead. Richardson scowled, then realized what she was trying to say. He was, after all, standing directly between her and the television.

"It's a re-run," he said, shaking his head.

"Mu."

"Is this what you did all night?" said the Admiral.

"…Mu."

"You know, we _have_ Netflix."

Minimu ate a marshmallow the size of her tiny fist as angrily as her size and inherent cuteness would allow.

Richardson rolled his eyes, then his gaze drifted down to his sleeping wife's face. He dropped to a knee, caressing her sharp, strong chin with one hand and planting a soft kiss on her forehead. "I love you, Mutsu," he said, hoping that whoever she'd placed on watch while she slept would relay the message when she woke up.

He put a hand on her belly for a moment. He was about to leave when Minimu spoke up again.

"Mu?"

Richardson blinked. The tiny thing stared expectantly at him, a marshmallow clamped between the nubs that passed for her hands.

"You too." Richardson leaned over and scratched between Minimu's antenna with one finger until her tiny eyes closed in ecstasy. "Muuuuu" she said, flashing what might've been a thumbs up.

* * *

 **Uploader's Note: Meh, Fanfiction and Sufficient Velocity do NOT like each other's formatting. There'll probably be a problem, so let me know, stat. And don't say I didn't warn you about the whiplash (and other things...but I imagine _some_ readers among you are into that...)! Anyways, I'll see ya'll very soon. Review and try to guess what the think-tank of SV Forums has put together so far...**

 **Caboose out!**


	50. Chapter 40: Bully the Corgi

**Chapter 40: Bully the Corgie**

 **Warning: Whiplash and mature themes ( _again..._ )**

* * *

Rear Admiral John Richardson was alone when he woke up. It wasn't an unusual occurrence, Mutsu was a light sleeper at the best of times, and with her pregnancy and the many bizarre cravings—even for a battleship—that came with it she spent a good portion of her nights in front of the refrigerator.

Recently, she'd curl up on the couch downstairs instead of coming back to bed. She'd never made a fuss, but John could tell from the way she grunted when she ascended that hauling herself and her twins up the stairs was starting to become an ordeal. He'd seen it before with Langley, although Jane hadn't been nearly as heavy as Mary and Mirai. Of course, his first wife hadn't been a battleship, so he imagined it balanced things out.

The Admiral knew his wife was missing without needing to open his eyes. Mutsu was so often the first to rise—and always careful not to wake him, even with her graceful balance thrown utterly out of whack—that he'd had ample time to hone his senses. There were several clues to the absence of the littlest Nagato.

Mutsu's sweet sent sill lingered, John could sense his wife's natural perfume of oiled metal, ripe apples, and fresh-baked bread, but only just. It wasn't nearly as entrancing as when she slept beside him. The gentle rhythmic purr of her breathing was gone too, along with the dozen muffled noises of a ship laying peacefully at anchor.

Most significantly of course, he wasn't falling into the vast concavity Mutsu's literally inconceivable weight punched into the mattress. It'd taken all of Akashi's ingenuity to design a bed that could handle the two of them without trouble, and even then it'd needed a few repairs after…

Well, after John put a pair of buns in Mutsu's oven.

Speaking of baked goods, the Admiral of Sasebo was hungry for breakfast. It was a constant nowadays. With Mutsu eating everything that wasn't nailed down—often in bizarre combinations that even Shimakaze looked askance at—and Albie stealing everything that _was_ , the Admiral was used to feeling mildly peckish all day.

Yamato's arrival had actually improved things on that front. The super-battleship was a wizard in the kitchen—when she wasn't getting her hips stuck between the counter and island. There was a Panama joke in there somewhere. In fact, judging from the smell wafting up the stairs, Yamato was already hard at work on breakfast.

"OOOOOOU!" A Doppler-shifted noise, likened to a thoroughly lubricated seal shoved into the breech of a frighteningly large rifle, preceded the blurry image of a blond-haired destroyer screaming past his door, but not by much. Yes, it was definitely breakfast, and if he didn't hurry Shimakaze was going to eat all the strawberries. Albie had convinced the scantily-clad destroyer that strawberries made her run faster, and Richardson had no desire to know why.

He sat up with a yawn and padded barefoot down the stairs. It was still dark out, but the rising sun was just visible over the horizon. Shimakaze and Jane were already huddled around the kitchen island, but John's interest was drawn in a different direction.

His battleship wife lay asleep on the couch. Well, mostly. Her belly—which was honestly comically ponderous now—was only half-supported by the worn out old couch. Luckily, someone had pushed an ottoman to help distribute the load.

Richardson didn't dare wake her up. Mutsu got so little sleep nowadays that he'd give her every chance to nap she could find. But… she looked so _peaceful_. So content with a smile on her face—the rare kind of Mutsu smile that wasn't a portent of some kind of ploy to sass him—and her hands cradling her unborn twins. He could stare at her for hours if—

"Mu!" The miniature simulacrum of Mutsu glared as angrily at him as her tiny features would allow. Minimu sat splayed-leg atop the genuine article's swollen belly. Judging by the half-finished bag of mini marshmallows, she was trying to stuff herself until her figure matched Mutsu's. Thus far it wasn't working.

Richardson cocked an eyebrow at the little thing.

"Muuuuuuu!" Minimu waved one of her tiny, stumpy little arms, jabbing the other directly ahead. Richardson scowled, then realized what she was trying to say. He was, after all, standing directly between her and the television.

"It's a re-run," he said, shaking his head.

"Mu."

"Is this what you did all night?" said the Admiral.

"…Mu."

"You know, we _have_ Netflix."

Minimu ate a marshmallow the size of her tiny fist as angrily as her size and inherent cuteness would allow.

Richardson rolled his eyes, then his gaze drifted down to his sleeping wife's face. He dropped to a knee, caressing her sharp, strong chin with one hand and planting a soft kiss on her forehead. "I love you, Mutsu," he said, hoping that whoever she'd placed on watch while she slept would relay the message when she woke up.

He put a hand on her belly for a moment. He was about to leave when Minimu spoke up again.

"Mu?"

Richardson blinked. The tiny thing stared expectantly at him, a marshmallow clamped between the nubs that passed for her hands.

"You too." Richardson leaned over and scratched between Minimu's antenna with one finger until her tiny eyes closed in ecstasy. "Muuuuu" she said, flashing what might've been a thumbs up.

* * *

The water was frigid, and by the time he was able to claw his way back to the crystal-clear surface Captain Aaron was frozen to the bone. It was a bitter, leaching kind of cold that attacked his body with an almost sadistic malevolence. He flailed for the edge of the pool, scrambling to haul himself back out before massive iron claws tightened around his waist.

"Not so soon~" said Tosa with what would've been a purr if her voice had the slightest hint of warmth or life. Her enormous chest pressed against his legs, cold and stiff as a corpse in the depths of rigor mortis.

She cradled his back in one hand, holding him like a treasured doll while her free hand stroked from his chin down his chest. The razor-sharp edge of her ragged talon sliced through the fabric of his coveralls and peeled them away like ribbons. Lips vastly too big for him parted, revealing a smile stitched of ragged shards of twisted carbon-blackened metal.

The princess closed her eyes and leaned forwards. She rolled her hips, sweeping her inhuman chest around him like the rollers of an automatic car wash. "You must wash, my love." She reached over to a trough beside the pool, gingerly retrieving a tiny cake of tallow soap.

It reeked of ash and scoured his skin like ground glass, but the princess was unrelenting. She pinned him against the edge of the pool with one massive talon, scrubbing him with the other and occasionally dragging him under for and thrashing him about to rinse off.

It should've been torture Hell, if you asked any international court they'd probably say it _was_ torture. But somehow, Captain Aaron got the distinct impression that the royal abyssal was honestly trying to clean him up. She might not have the slightest concern for his comfort during the process, but she wasn't deliberately trying to harm him.

"There," she released her grasp, letting him fight back his breath. She raised her hand and snapped her talons with a thunderous metal-on-metal crash. One of her silent, skeletal attendants appeared at the side of the pool and draped…

Draped a set of Navy dress whites by the side of the pool. A set of whites with Admiral's stars on the shoulders.

"Dress," she said, letting herself glide back to her side of the pool.

"I'm not a—"

"DRESS!" She roared, her voice devoid of even painfully twisted attempts at sultry honey.

Aaron shuddered and scampered out of the pool. It wasn't like he had a choice. The grubby coveralls he'd been wearing since his capture were torn ribbons laying at the bottom of the pool. It was the whites or nothing, and the animal part of his brain was screaming that going naked around the princess would only end badly for him.

By the time he'd dressed, the princess was gone.

* * *

Uploader's Note: Aaand here it is, the 50th 'chapter' to this story. Just passed 101 followers too. 1/5th of Belated Battleships, I think, so I guess about 1/4 of you are here? This'll put us at about 166k words, and there's plenty more. Here's an admin Question; do you guys enjoy the omake I've put in, such as the "Hunter" sidestories? Or should I just go full steam ahead with canon?

On a side note, I'm finally getting home, which means I'm able to have time and good enough health to write my own stories, in addition to 'Midway', which I co-write. Haven't been able to do much more than planning and tossing ideas around, so that's good?

Alright, that's enough rambling on my part. Hope ya'll had a good thanksgiving, for the Americans out there.

Caboose out!


	51. Chapter 41: Merry Christmas!

Battleship New Jersey was in an unseasonably foul mood as she steamed into Pearl. It'd been Missouri's experience that her older sister tended to default to snarled curses and general malingering—that one unfortunate phase with the dress notwithstanding of course—but this was extreme even for her.

"Motherfucker!" Jersey cursed through teeth grit so tightly Mo could hear the squeal of straining metal. The second Iowa glared at a passing seagull and jabbed a pair of furious finger guns at the ambivalent seabird.

As far as Mo could tell, the decline had started around when news of Battleship Row's return reached the fleet. It'd been subtle at first, a minute change in the background of painting already awash with undirected malcontent. But by the time she got to the mouth of the harbor Jersey was grinding her teeth so furiously Mo swore she saw sparks.

"We're gone for… what?" Jersey threw her hands out, her nose contorting in a snarl. "Eight cunt-fucking hours and all goddamn hell breaks loose."

"I dunno, Sis." Wisky shrugged. The littlest Iowa shoved her hands under her plate-carrier to adjust the thick turtleneck she was wearing. "We got more heavies, and damn good ones too."

"Yeah!" snapped Jersey. "That's the goddamn point. That's what I fucking mean."

Mo cocked an eyebrow under her mirrored crimson shades. Jersey's mind ran on its own brand of logic at the best of times, and when she got this angry she started having half the conversation in her head. "What?"

"Just…" Jersey balled her fists. "Can… can I not have one _fucking_ day!" She roared at nothing in particular, "to celebrate my sisters coming back from their goddamn graves before something _else_ steals the fucking thunder?"

"Hey," Mo put on a knot and pulled up close to her big sister. "The Navy's got a lot of standards, but I've only got the one family."

Jersey glanced over at her tanned chocolate sister. This close, Mo could see that her ice-blue eyes were red and streaked with bitterly suppressed tears. "You don't know what it's like," she muttered. "When Wisky went down… I know she did good, but…"

"But it hurt," said Mo. "Yeah, I know." She shook her head and pinched her temples. "I was… it hurt me. I can't imagine what it was like for you."

"Oh," Jersey shook her head. "I fucking imploded. You know I tried to fuck Sushi tits?"

"No," Mo lied. Just about everyone in the surface warfare community knew about New Jersey's first attempt to spend the night up Musashi's skirt. Not nearly as many knew that she'd been kinda-sorta dating another at the time. Even fewer knew how badly it'd broken Jersey. Mo didn't think her sister needed to know just how broadly her mistake was known.

"It was bad," said Jersey. "I… fuck. Then you went down swinging like the mother of all badasses. Hell, you and Wisky both."

Mo blushed and she hastily looked away. She was in the right place at the right time, nothing more then that. Wisky though… holding together as long as she did was nothing short of miraculous. Mo took her crew down with her, but the littlest Iowa held on long enough to get every man off safe. "Yeah. Yeah she did."

If Jersey noticed her sister's choice of pronoun, she didn't comment on it. "You know I blew up full of fucking schoolteachers?"

Mo nodded gently.

"Yeah… fucking… scared-ass civvies wouldn't know a head from a hawser. Just trying to…" She trailed off. "You know Victory's up here too?" she tapped her temple.

" _The_ Victory?"

Jersey nodded. "Fucking stormed the admiralty and demanded at cannon point to be given something useful to do or some shit. I took her down with me." The battleship tapped a finger against her temple. "Now the cranky old bitch won't leave me alone."

"Haunted?"

"Yeah," said Jersey.

"Sucks."

"You don't know the fucking half of it." Jersey scowled. "She keeps screaming 'it's spelled with a U' and trying to get me laid."

Mo and Jersey looked at each other for a moment. Then Mo let out a single snorting laugh. Moments later both Iowas were doubled over laughing at the mental image.

"I missed you, sis," said Jersey.

"You too."

The two Iowas smiled, then slowly glanced back at their third sister. Wisky was trailing at the back of the formation, her attention firmly focused on an unmistakable orange dot jabbering something equally incoherent and enraging from the shoreline.

"Naka?" asked Mo.

"Yeah," Jersey hung her head.

"Fuck me."

"Welcome to my life," Jersey hung her head and stepped up onto the concrete pier. "Look, Mo?"

"Yeah?" The chocolate Iowa planted her hands on her hips.

"I've gotta do officer things," said Jersey. "Keep _her_ away from the Japanese."

"I'll—"

"Naka-Chan!" Wisky's thunderous contralto echoed over the waves loud enough for the entire island chain to hear it. "Ohayo gozaimasu! Watashi wa uuchu senkan Wisconsin dess!"

The elder Iowas hung their heads and muttered in the perfectly synchronized cadence that only two sisters frustrated beyond all human comprehension at their weeaboo of a sister could manage. "Motherfucking Wisky."

—|—|—

"Excuse me?" The softest, gentlest voice support carrier Shinano had ever heard come out of something that wasn't an escort carrier startled the littlest Yamato from her nap.

Well… to tell the truth, it was less of a nap and more an excuse to stay in her room bundled in a comforter with a small but tasteful collection of stuffed animals. She'd never fully lost consciousness, although she had lost any conscious knowledge of where her body ended and the warm blankets began.

Which wasn't to say the big carrier wasn't tired. She was. Maybe not so much physically, but running her part of the air battle had taxed Shinano's mind more than she thought possible. She didn't know how Akagi and Kaga did it.

But her mental exhaustion wasn't the main reason Shinano was holed up in her room. Well, not _her_ room, but the Hawaiian hotel room she'd been offered as temporary quarters. If she left her room, she'd need to meet people. People who'd probably want to thank her. She knew the part she'd played in the attack wasn't much compared to Akagi or Kaga, but she was still proud of it.

But she just… meeting new people was almost more mentally taxing on the carrier than coordinating a full-strength strike package. She wasn't capable of that right now, especially without any of the very few people she actually _was_ comfortable around to lean on.

"H-hello?" Shinano pulled her blanket back just far enough to expose her eyes. Hawaii was warming back up fast, but it was still a little chilly in the mornings.

"It's Sara," came a musical voice through the door.

"W-who?" muttered Shinano. Truth be told, she was probably somewhat more tired than she was letting on.

"Saratoga, dear. From the US Navy? Can I come in?"

Shinano blinked. Sara… oh! Right, yes. "Mmmhm."

Sara pulled open the door and slipped through. Her airy sundress fluttered with the gentle movement, and she'd undone the top few buttons to get more airflow over her vast bunkers. "My, I don't know how you can stand this heat."

"It's not that…" Shinano bushed and buried her head further in her blankets. "Oh."

"Mmm," Sara smoothed her dress and sat on the edge of the bed. "I was a carrier too."

Shinano nodded. "I know." She blinked, and slowly retrieved a rather ragged bunny with a missing eye and visible stitches holding in what was left of his stuffing from her hoard. It wasn't the prettiest animal in her collection, but it was the softest. "Um… Miss Sara?"

"Hmm?" Sara blinked, then smiled. "Oh, thank you." She took the bunny in her arms and clutched it to her chest. "I… I understand you've been trained by White Plains?"

Shinano nodded. "I was."

"Good." Sara pursed her lips and nodded sagely. "Good, she's… you've had a good teacher."

"You… you want to be one too," said Shinano very softly. "Don't you?"

"Hmm?" Sara glanced over.

"A carrier."

Sara said nothing for a while, then she simply nodded. "Was it that obvious?"

Shinano shrugged. "I think… I think I'm better at noticing it. I'm between worlds… like you."

"You've certainly made a name for yourself," said Sara.

Shinano shrugged again. "I was in the right place," she said.

"Mmm," Sara nodded.

The littlest Yamato sat up on her bed, still bundled up in her warm blankets. "Miss Sara?"

"Oh, yes sweetie?"

"I…" Shinano bushed. "Can… can you tell me how you managed so many planes?"

"Oh…" Sara thought for a moment, then stiffened. "Of course, sweetie."

—|—|—

"My love, how nice of you to join me." Tosa sat at one end of the table. Her immense granite form was clothed in what could've passed for fine evening wear if the fabric—if it _was_ fabric*—wasn't coated in a film of oil and rot. Necklaces bracelets ornamented her titanic body, but they were made of blackened, twisted metal and polished bone.

Her milky eyes hovered aimlessly in the distance, never quite following the stuttering movements of her head. Her belly was bared by the daring cut of her dress and already swollen with young. The constant heaving writhe of what had to be dozens if not hundreds of demons squirming in a perpetual struggle within her was the only motion that wasn't tainted by the jerky, malformed marionette quality the rest of her motions displayed.

Her frigid lips parted in a smile, her craggy teeth all but lost in the inky bit of her mouth. "Sit," she said, gesturing with the massive goblet she held in one hand to the opposite side of the table.

A guard pricked captain—Admiral, according to the stars on the facsimile of a uniform she'd forced him into—Aaron in the small of the back. He winced but forced himself to come closer to giant demoness. His chair was like hers, a throne of concrete and iron as uncomfortable to sit on as it was to look at.

"Much better," said the princess. She set her goblet down, leaning over until her massive breasts almost spilled from her gown. "Eat," she said, sliding a talon along the still-twitching body of a terrified fish and gutting it without hesitation.

"I—"

"Eat!" She roared at him, spit flying from her mouth and splattering on his face. Each drop was scalding, burning into his skin like super-heated steam. He screamed at the pain and braced himself for the next onslaught.

It never came. If anything, the princess looked… concerned. Not for his well-being of course. It wasn't the look one person gave another in need, more the look you gave a dropped phone before inspecting the screen for cracks. She was worried about damage to her latest plaything, nothing more. "You must be hungry."

Aaron nodded. The princess was feeding her captives, but only just. Enough to keep them alive, but what she thought appropriate prison rations were… Just the thought of it turned his stomach almost more than the constant writhe of her distended stomach did. "Y-yes."

"Then eat." She pushed the gutted fish towards him. Then she stood. Her massive hands came to her back, undoing the clasp holding her dress closed. The fabric fell open, her massive breasts flopping out, each already oozing bloody oil like pus. "Unless… something else is to your taste?"

Aaron couldn't move. Slowly, she strode around the table and draped her arms around him. Her naked breasts stained the white of his uniform. Her lifeless eyes met his for a moment before pitifully rolling off to the corners of their sockets. "You love me," she said with a cold smile, "don't you?"

"I…" Aaron gulped. Before he could get another word out, the smile vanished from her face. She bared her teeth in a snarl and roared in anger. Her vast gauntlet tore at the table ripped it from its anchors in rage.

"Take him away!" she thundered, spit flying from her mouth and oozing down her chin. "And assemble my fleet."

* * *

Yamato set the mug of pitch black coffee down on Admiral Richardson's desk. Such an action was, if anything at all, more in the hands of a secretary. A yeoman at the absolute most. But she did not wish to spend another moment sitting about the house waiting for something to do.

She hadn't yet been cleared to use the range and she couldn't just sail around as she wished. Not to mention she had already cleaned or washed every conceivable item at the house already. And she could tell her hovering was beginning to grate on Mutsu's nerves. Not a great deal, but enough that she could see the growing spark of ire behind the cheery smiles and grateful words. Everyone needed a little space it seemed.

The idea of having a day off to relax was a horrific prospect to her. She had spent so much of her former life in idleness that just imagining doing nothing productive with her time sent shivers of dread down her keel.

She was beyond thankful her Admiral had decided to humor her request.

"Are you settling in alright?" he asked while picking up the mug, abandoning the attention he'd been placing on the dozens of papers adorning his workspace. At a glance, it seemed like a jumbled mess of reports mixed with letters in angry Japanese script. Atop it all was a letter he'd been penning to someone whose name she didn't recognize.

"Yes, sir. In truth, far better than I could have imagined." She pressed her fingers together when he raised an eyebrow at her words. That probably didn't sound very nice now that she thought about it. "What I mean is. Ah. Well, I was not expecting such a warm welcome. Nor was I expecting to be granted residence at someone's home. I imagined it would be a dormitory or the barracks."

"Well, technically you're living in a dorm that's been remodeled like crazy."

"It... is?" It certainly didn't seem that way to her. She tilted her head slightly in mild confusion.

"Yep." Richardson took a long sip of the drink before nodding in approval. "Mmm. Good stuff. And it definitely is. With shipgirls showing up and the attrition on the steel fleets, housing was in a really strange place. We started moving people to dorms to save space only to have that space not be as much a premium as imagined."

"And that's how you and Jane ended up living in such a large place? By yourselves?" What a strange turn of events. She wasn't really certain if Richardson simply had good fortune or was far more shrewd than she realized. Both were also quite possible...

"Us and Hiei."

Yamato wanted to ask further about that clarification, but there was a look in his eyes that told her it was better not to. Or at least to do so far, far in the future. Certainly not now.

She shook her head and smiled warmly.

"But yes, I am settling in quite well." She paused and folded her hands in front of her. "Although I still find it a little unusual to be under your command. An American command, not you personally."

Her cheeks reddened when Richardson raised an eyebrow. The fact he did so while maintaining eye contact and sipping his drink was ever so slightly unsettling.

"It's... nothing unwanted or untoward. But I imagined that I would be serving under Admiral Goto when I was summoned." Perhaps had the situation been different, she might have. But the long and, frankly, irritating list of groups and people who would attempt to use her presence in the JMDSF as some sort of catalyst made that option nonviable. Supplies weren't as much of an issue thanks to the convoys run by their allies thankfully. Though she would definitely have to do something nice for Miss Ooyodo. The woman did not look well after she had announced herself.

She couldn't help having such an appetite. Not with the armament and capacity she had. At least if her boilers were a bit more efficient it might ease things a bit. Maybe.

"You might end up back there at some point. But for now, you're stuck with us. We'll try not to corrupt you too much." Yamato tried to not roll her eyes at Richardson's words, but his amused chuckle made it fairly obvious she hadn't succeeded.

Before she could comment on that little taunt, he continued. His voice more even and lacking the good cheer from earlier.

"It wouldn't be an issue if you were one of the first battleships back and options were limited, or if you weren't a Yamato. But your name is too powerful. It's why your little sister was better hidden than most state secrets until we had to haul her out to take down the Northern Princess." He tapped the side of his coffee mug. "Shinano managed to avoid it all by being a carrier and almost completely unknown to history."

Yamato felt her anger rise at that statement but fought it down. It was the truth of things, unfortunately. No matter how much she wanted to jump to her littlest sister's defense.

"You, however..."

Richardson sighed and for a moment, looked older than he was in her eyes.

"...I?"

"You are possibly the single most famous battleship in the history of mankind. Nagato may be Japan personified. But she might as well be a nobody next to you." He raised his mug and used it to gesture towards the gleaming chrysanthemum emblazoned on her steel collar. "No sane member of any government in this war would let you stay in reach of those delusional idiots. No one can afford it. Hell, even some of our worst rivals and enemies would agree on that."

Yamato shook her head. She was well aware of this. It was not much different than when she was a steel hull. Only back then, she could do absolutely nothing. Just sit there and look pretty, intimidating, and luxurious. A hotel with guns.

"No matter how much you may want to serve your homeland, you cannot under their command. Not now. And maybe not for a long while."

"I know, sir." The bitterness in her voice surprised even her. "And I apologize for forcing this upon you. It wasn't my intention to bring such discord with me."

She just wanted to be useful.

There was a long, painful silence as battleship and Admiral locked eyes.

"No. It's not your fault and I shouldn't be taking this out on you. I'm sorry about that." Richardson let out a heavy, drawn-out sigh as he broke the silence. He palmed his face with his free hand and set the mug back down. "And why in blazes are you still standing there? I have chairs if you want to sit down."

The sharp turn in mood threw her off balance something fierce. And for the first time, she wondered if stress was burning away the last of the rope keeping Admiral Richardson sane. He hadn't seemed particularly stressed in the admittedly short time she'd known him. He had seemed friendly, relatively easygoing, and a bit of a... grump, but not worn or strung out. It didn't stop her from answering with the first thought that came to mind, however.

"I wanted to be ready in case you wanted another cup."

"You wanted to be ready in case I wanted another cup?" Richardson stared at her in disbelief and she nodded after a moment to confirm she actually had just admitted that.

"Yes, sir." She placed a finger to her lips in a contemplative manner. While true, perhaps a little bit of embellishment of her current state would help improve the mood. "You also did not give me permission to sit, nor did you specify where it would be appropriate to do so."

Yamato managed only a few seconds before her facade of innocence cracked and she began to giggle at Richardson's look of utter disbelief.

Giggles that intensified as he made a show of turning back to his desk and planting his forehead squarely on the hard surface. The loud, coconut sounding impact was accompanied by a long-suffering grumble. Something about trolls and Mutsu being a corrupting influence on everyone. Hiei was mentioned in there somewhere, but it was hard to tell in what capacity.

"Has your mood improved?" she asked when he stopped his mumbling.

The sarcastic thumbs up brought a smile to her face.

"I'm glad."

"All right then." Richardson sat up and straightened his shirt. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, visibly trying to get himself back into some semblance of mental order. The disquiet finally seemed to leave his countenance and he turned his attention back to her. "Is there anything you need? You've been a great help around here and at home, but you haven't really asked for anything. And yes, you can sit down if you want."

Yamato decided not to play around on that thread any further and took a seat.

"Clearance for the range would be nice." Being useful was at the forefront of her mind. And being so around the house and around base went a long way to easing that deep seated desire of hers. But it paled in comparison to being useful where it mattered when the chips were down. If she couldn't pull her weight in the thick of battle, then what did it matter elsewhere? Sure she had combat experience. But it was slim to none when faced with almost every other warship out there right now.

"I don't know why that wasn't set when you got here, but I'll find out why you haven't been granted access. And if it's something stupid, then I am not going to be happy." She did not need to imagine that people did not like it when he genuinely wasn't happy. "But I mean anything else. You've got your purchase card and I know Jintsuu went over how that whole mess works."

Yamato tilted her head in thought. Was there anything she really needed right now? Or simply wanted? Well... perhaps one thing.

"...Actually, there is one thing sir."

She didn't quite meet his questioning eyes as he leaned forward a bit. It seemed silly in the grand scheme of things. But he was offering...

"I'd like to learn more about modern entertainment. Music, actually." She felt the excitement bubble up inside her. She'd always loved music. It was something she had been able to enjoy without reservation as a steel hull. But now some seventy years later, there had been so much more composed. Even Admiral Goto's ringtone had fascinated her. "I'm just not sure where to start. There are more songs out there than I could possibly have imagined in my time."

Richardson's eyebrows shot up.

"Music? Really?" He sounded surprised, but also a little happy. Maybe he also enjoyed it?

She nodded vigorously, her long hair bobbing up and down with the action.

"Well... I think I could point you in a few directions." He reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a small metallic device with some sort of headset wired into it. "Jane says I have awful taste in music, but maybe yo-"

"HieiiiI!"

"Shiro! Shiro!"

Out of seemingly nowhere, a miniature Hiei ran across the desk to seize the device. An endeavor aided by an equally tiny Yamashiro and Jintsuu.

Yamato's eyes widened in surprise. What was going on?

Her shock compounded when Richardson seemed to roll his eyes in resignation as if this was a common occurrence.

"What? It's not bad music. And where did you come from?!"

"Tsuu!

As the banter between the chibis and Admiral escalated, Yamato felt something tug at her socks. She very nearly let out a gasp of shock when she looked down. For there at her feet was a miniature version of herself carrying a saucer with a cup of coffee on it. Aided by a tiny Arizona of all ships.

"H-hello?"

"Mato!"

"Zona."

...was she going to be okay here?

* * *

"You okay, kiddo?" Battleship Missouri propped herself up on her elbows and glanced over the top of her mirrored crimson shades at the white-haired cruiser squirming furiously on her bare stomach. Mo would be the first to admit that her chiseled abdominal probably wasn't nearly as comfortable as Alaska was used to—though the Iowa was hopeful that when, not if she got pregnant the situation would change—but her snowy-haired friend hadn't been able to sit still for more than a few heartbeats.

Mo would, of course, have offered the much softer territory of her healthily developed bosom if she thought there was even the remotest chance that Alaska wouldn't blow every gasket in her body. Unfortunately, the cruiser was visibly starstruck just sharing a sunbeam with Mo. More intimate contact would send the poor girl over the edge.

"Mmm," Alaska mumbled. Her head rolled into one of the valleys carved between Mo's muscles and she quickly righted herself again.

"Really?" Mo cocked an eyebrow behind her shades.

Alaska took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. "No," she muttered, her voice almost lost in the island din. She looked over at Mo, her pale blue eyes slick and glassy. "I miss Cameron."

"You boyfriend?" asked Mo. She might've been a newly-returned warrior, but the Iowa'd kept tabs on the strategic situation during her time as a steel hull. Or rather, her _crew_ kept tabs, but they made sure to inform her, even though none of them could see her at the time. And… well, the large cruiser's escapades in the Gulf were too adorable for her crew not to share with her.

Alaska bit her lip and nodded. "I've…. I've never been away from him before." She shook her head and batted a tear away with a flutter of her snow-white eyelashes. "I mean, I've gone on patrols and stuff but that was…"

"It's different when you've got enough on your plate to keep your mind occupied, huh?" Mo reached over and gently stroked the large cruiser's shockingly soft hair.

Alaska nodded. Mo had to fight back a giggle. Her hair tickled against the Iowa's stomach. "I miss him so bad. I know it's stupid, I'll see him in a few days. I know there are people fighting who're waiting way longer, people waiting forever. But…"

"But it still hurts, huh?"

Alaska nodded slightly. "I hate it," she mumbled. "I'm so much better off than—"

"'Laska?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut up."

Alaska blinked.

"Kiddo…" Mo shook her head. "You're young. Like… ridiculously fucking young. And you're in love. Don't ever apologize for that, okay?"

"But…"

"But nothing," said the Iowa. "Love like that is what makes us different from _them_." She waved in the general direction of the nazi twins' last resting place. "Okay? Love like that is why we fight. Yeah, people have sacrificed more, but they've done it _because_ they wanted little boys and girls to have their saccharine love stories."

"You really think?"

Mo nodded and tapped the large cruiser on the temple. "You know I'm right, you know why your captain took you out."

"Mmm."

"Look," Mo adjusted her shades. "You really wanna honor their sacrifices?"

Alaska nodded emphatically.

"Love your boyfriend," said Mo. "Love him as you mean it. Marry him. Buy a house with a white picket fence and have all the babies."

"Oh," Alaska nodded and visibly internalized that. "Okay, Mo."

"Actually," Mo gulped, realizing the enormity of the mistake she might've just made. "Don't— um, scratch the babies one. Don't think his hips are up for it."

Alaska's only response was an infuriatingly unreadable giggle.

—|—|—

For a while, newly christened Admiral Irons had been deeply concerned by the fashion choices of his fleet. Namely, the incredibly short mini-dresses worn by the Tennessee sisters. Dresses so short they were almost flashing their panties to the entire base just by standing still. It only took a few inches of elevation difference before London and France were on full display for all to see.

Not that neither of them seemed to care. If anything, Tennessee seemed abundantly pleased that he'd noticed the crisp white trapezoid peeking out from under her dress, and made comments to the effect that he could examine her underthings in greater detail and under more flattering lighting conditions whenever he wished. To ensure they were up to modern standards of course.

Cali hadn't minded either. In fact, she seemed blissfully ignorant that everyone on base could see her barely-clothed aft, and even when he'd explained what a walking pantyshot she was she hadn't seen the issue. But then again it was _Cali_ so that could mean anything.

That was in the past though. Right now, admiral Irons was busy drawing up requisition tables to make sure his fleet was properly provisioned and equipped. It was about then that he realized something truly horrifying.

He knew that Cali and Tennessee wore panties. He knew the color and cut they liked, as well as the exact size. He did not, however, know if _any_ of his other battleships even owned a pair. He couldn't exactly _ask_ them of course, and he was far too busy to deal with the situation in a more oblique manner.

But like the great white whale Moby Dick, the problem of Schrodinger's upskirt would haunt the newly-christened Admiral for the rest of his days.

—|—|—

"Hai Hai! Naka-chan! Idol of the fleet, desssssu~" Naka bent her fingers into a heart and blew a kiss at the webcam perched precariously on her laptop. It wasn't the best setup for streaming, but even the fleet's idol was bound by the requirements of wartime expediency. "Can you all hear me alright?"

Naka tugged on her gloves while she waited for chat to come to a consensus. "Ah, excellent!" She said with a beaming smile. "Today we've got a special guest for you."

Right on cue, and louder than seemed humanly possible, battleship Wisconsin pushed a rolling office chair across the floor of what'd once been the Ambassador Hotel's convention center and crashed to a stop right next to the comparatively diminutive light cruiser. "Arigato!" Wisky's thunderous contralto didn't really work with her attempt to mimic Naka's bubbly idol accent, and for a moment there Naka was worried she'd have to buy a new mic. "Battleship Wisconsin, dess!"

Then Naka noticed something else. The _second_ Wisky wheeled her way into frame, her viewer count skyrocketed by almost six hundred percent. And, sadly, Naka knew exactly what the reason was. Or rather, what the reasons _were_.

As one might expect for a battleship named after a frigid northern state a stone's throw from Canada, Wisky was bundled up in thick white turtleneck sweater. A sweater who's insulating qualities were slightly compromised by the large keyhole cutout right over two fantastically enormous breasts.

Well… not so much _enormous_ —although they were each meaningfully comparable with Naka's head, if not larger—as proportionate. As far as Naka could tell, Wisky wasn't any bustier than Jersey or Nagato. But the littlest Iowa was just so huge that those well-balanced proportions yielded bunkers that commanded a shocking fraction of on-screen real estate.

Naka bit her lip as her guest-star introduced herself in enthusiastic tones peppered with mangled Japanese. Unlike Mo's tan—which was less sunkissed and more sun-fucked-raw-and-unprotected-for-the-whole-weekend-at-a-seedy-motel—Wisky's skin was pale and truly sun-virginal. Which only made the cleavage framed by her sweater more attractive to the eye.

"Naka?"

"Huh?" Naka shook her head. "What?"

"Oh," Wisky adjusted her glasses. Regular clear-lensed glasses this time, she'd tucked her mirrored shades away in the webbing of her plate carrier before joining the stream. "You… were gonna introduce the game?"

Naka blinked. "Right, yeah, today we're gonna be playing _Duke Nukem 3d_ , desu!"

"Oh, fuck yeah!" Wisky bumped Naka out of the way with a single swing of her impressively vast Iowa-class hips. She hunched over the table, her fingers flying through the archaic DOS commands to boot up the game. "Hey, Naka?"

"Yeah?" Naka carefully extracted her chair from the drywall. "What's up?"

"You should get Jon St. John in a room with Jersey."

"Yeah, I should," said Naka absentmindedly. Wisky was already almost done with the first level, and the view count was still at its shockingly high level. It was a conundrum, a question that Naka couldn't force her brain to dismiss. "Hey… just play for a minute, I gotta do something."

"Hai hai."

Naka rolled her eyes and tore a sheet of paper out of her notebook. She pulled her chair over and settled in right next to the big Iowa. Then, with stealthy precision worthy of a warship trained in the art of night battle, she slowly inched the paper over until it blocked the camera's view of Wisky's vast tracts of land.

 _Instantly_ her view count tanked to its previous level.

She pulled the paperback.

Just as instantly the view count rocketed back to its previous level.

Naka frowned. The littlest Iowa must never know of her power.

—|—|—

Battleship New Jersey considered herself a connoisseur of rage. A sommelier of outrage and an expert in the realm of general distemper. When she steamed into Pearl a scant few hours ago, the last thing she expected was to discover a new and more virulent level of anger heretofore unknown to science.

She drew herself up to her full height, exhausted Yuudachi hanging like a ragdoll from the scruff of her neck in one hand while the other balled into a fist so tight sparks flew, metal groaned, and blood trickled between her fingers.

"You goddamn crayon-eating, glue-sniffing, sand-fucking inbred retard _cuntfucks_!" She roared at a dozen or so marines the Admiral had detailed to her for punishment. Spit flew from her mouth and her chest heaved with the force of her furious breathing. "Why in the name of everloving _fuck_ did you think giving _this_ —"

She shook Yuudachi angrily, but the little destroyer was out cold.

"Her own SECNAV-dammed body-weight in fucking _rip-its_ was at all a good idea?"

"Um," one marine, a Lance Corporal, spoke up. "In our defense, ma'am… we were bored and she was cute."

Jersey bit her lip to keep from physically biting the man's head off. Why. Why was the universe like this to her?

—|—|—

"Admiral," light cruiser Jintsuu clutched a clipboard to her chest. "We've got a problem."

Admiral Richardson glanced over the top of his laptop. "Is this a Yamato got stuck in the kitchen again kind of problem," he asked. "Or a problem problem."

As much as the inevitable kitchen remodels were going to cost, he'd much prefer having to deal with that kind of issue—or even the passive-aggressive "I am available for nakedness" texts Mutsu had been sending recently as her hormones were competing with her desire to not impose on her Admiral's duties—than the latter.

"The latter," said Jitsuu. The second Sendai dropped a sheaf of recon photos on Richardson's desk. "We've spotted the Tosa princess at the head a massive fleet."

"Course?" asked Richardson, fearing he already knew the answer.

"Here," Jintsuu pointed exactly where she was standing.

"Shit."

* * *

 **EDITOR'S NOTE: Merry Christmas to you all. After many, _many_ different Omakes that I was debating to post from Space Battles, I decided to simply ask. Do you guys like Corgis, the Hunter, or The Hunt for Abyssal Graf Spee? All three? Or perhaps none at all, and stick to the canon- omake can be used if there's a dry spell, right? **

**BTW, you should be used to it by now, but this chapter is rated M for Jersey and...something out of H? *shrugs***

 **I hope you enjoyed it!**


	52. Unsung, Unbent, Unbroken Part One

**Unsung, Unbent, Unbroken Part One** **\- By Arkona's Leaf**

" _Ideas that enter the mind under fire remain there securely and forever"-Leon Trotsky_

* * *

Hunger. Why was it always hunger? It burned and ate away at the soul, like a sickness she just couldn't fight. Weakness…she couldn't even feel her own body…so weak…so cold, so…unfair. It wasn't supposed to be like this, and yet it always seemed to come back to those three things: Hunger, Cold, and Weakness

That trifecta of things always seemed to dominate everything about her life. And even now since her rebirth as a 'Shipgirl' Gangut felt the too familiar hunger pangs attack her stomach as she lies in her rocking chair, clutching her own jacket and comforting the smaller destroyer-girl in her arms. Her own Ushanka and baby blue shawl doing only so much to ward off the bitter biting cold the arctic circle threw at them.

Looking down again, she made out the figures of her two Cruiser companions and their other three Destroyers all huddled against each other, collectively sharing an amalgamation of pillows, wool blankets, and other manners of cloth in a desperate attempt to keep warm.

The wood-burning stove was eating through what little firewood they had with a hunger that rivaled her own. Even now it was beginning to die down again and would need to be fed. Quietly, she lamented that even now she couldn't muster the strength to move the Destroyer in her arms, even for a reason as important as shifting the burning logs for heat. That was a luxury, a sign of weakness she could not afford, not now.

Unlike most shipgirls of the current era, there was no great, "Hero's welcome" awaiting herself or the girls who came after. Ironic that they could even be summoned at all to this land. This foreign land that had apparently forgotten.

Rocking back and forth she hoped that sleep would take away the pain, even if for only a few hours. She closed her eyes to lure that precious feeling of security back into her life, but even sleep would bring no measure of peace to the once mighty battleship's heart. For there were only memories…painful memories…unfinished memories.

...

The snow had fallen fresh on the late October air as Petrograd's streets left nothing but blood in their wake

The anger began to overflow

The Tsar's men came, equipped with guns and swords and horses

The anger began to overflow

The bread had run out again

The anger began to overflow

The Cries of the people were met with sword and bone shattering

The people saw red

The people ran, many trampled beneath horses' hooves

The people saw red

The officers had ordered the executions of mutineers, dissidents, and undesirables

The people saw red

Their blood tainted his dreams, twelve years too soon

The Tsar's power broke and the gates had opened

They had come

The people with guns, their red banners, and their lofty words

The people hoped

They dreamed

And then they stood up

And she stood up with them

Her mast flew the red banner

The Tsar and his children hid in fear of them

The people had risen against their masters and now the tables had turned

They roared in the streets, rioted, and pushed aside the guards

The eternal corrupt rule of the Emperor had come to a crashing end by their will

This was her

This was what she'd done

Betrayed her Tsar

Betrayed her country

Betrayed everything she'd been born into

All for them, their cheers joined her guns and their blood ignited, she'd returned to her City a hero

This was _her_

This was the Revolution

She WAS the revolution

And she watched as their new god took to his podium

His smile brought warmth to the Proletariat

She was filled with joy and despair in equal measure. For that was the dream she'd sacrificed everything for. And now…

And now?

...

Gangut's eyes opened to the same cabin they'd been staying in. Familiarly simple, it's one room design bringing about that feeling of suffocating claustrophobia. But the Siberian winds outside prevented any sort of movement; especially at this time of night.

"( _For the love of…_ )" She cut herself off mid-sentence as the sleeping destroyer Tashkent shifted in response to the Battleship's own movement.

"( _Can't sleep, Komrade Komisar Gangut?_ )" Asked the Familiar Voice of one of the Cruisers in their 'Quarters'. The Shipgirl was of the Kirov class and was noticeably different from her namesake sister (Currently sleeping in the pile of Destroyer girls on the floor). She, much like the Battleship, had silver hair though hers was considerably shorter to the point of almost being 'Masculine' in its cut. Her outfit was much warmer than Gangut's own; A thick grey greatcoat most suited to warding off the subzero temperatures outside the cabin.

The most distinguishing feature, however, was the girl's face. It was as though she'd suffered a great injury sometime in the past and had at one point received multiple skin grafts to her face; complete with a haphazard stitch-job that left it more marred than it probably warranted. In a show of self-disgust, much of her face was wrapped in bandages, giving it the illusion that the bandages were the only thing holding her together.

"( _It's nothing Komrade Molotov…_ )" She said heaving out yet another deep sigh as she watched the Cruiser poke about and turn over the remaining logs in the pechka. The slight action brought a wave of warmth into the cabin. It was visibly noticed by the other sleeping residents as they gave happy groans in their sleep and rolled about to bring each other closer together.

"( _Now I know that's not true,_ )" Said Molotov, looking back to her Commanding Officer as she tightened her own blankets around her greatcoat and squatted near. "( _You've hardly eaten anything since our last expedition, and that was three days ago…_ )"

"( _I don't need as much to eat Komrade Cruiser, we all eat according to our needs, and that includes you,_ )" Said Gangut with a bit more edge than she'd intended. She didn't want to disturb those sleeping as they would need their strength come the morning. "( _The next mission requires Tashkent, yourself, and the other three destroyers to be at your full strength_ )"

"( _You were thinking of it, again weren't you?_ )" Asked the Cruiser, cutting off Gangut with a determined look in her eyes. She didn't serve the battleship in life, but she knew OF her. After all, she was the first of the first of their kind. "( _The Revolution?_ )"

Gangut's face hardened at Molotov's accusation, the thought was hitting far too close to home than she was used to. She was their leader after all, and she couldn't have her own subordinates pitying her or trying to pry into things that didn't concern them.

"( _It doesn't concern you, Komrade Cruiser Molotov, return to sleep and maintain your strength, Minsk, Gnevney and Leningrad will need that strength if the enemy decides to show their face during our operations,_ )" She said sharply ending the conversation before it could go any further.

The mission was rather simple and in-line with their other operations within their area. They'd been patrolling the Arctic circle for almost six months now, attacking supply convoys, cutting off valuable resources, and laying out their massive minefields throughout the Icy channels of the Arctic.

The Abyssals had claimed most of the seas, however, there were certain segments they had less control over than they'd like. And from the intelligence data she and her small ragtag fleet had been able to gather, the enemy was mainly focused on operations far down south in the Pacific. They may have run individually on food, water, ammunition, but overall a war economy still ran on Infrastructure.

Attacking the enemy head-on was something her fleet just couldn't do. She wasn't so arrogant to believe they could match the overwhelmingly powerful battlefleets of the Abyssals without substantial losses to their own cause. She would need to be sparing in her deployment of their assets. She just couldn't afford to lose these girls, especially since unlike the Japanese and American 'Kanmasu' her own couldn't be replaced so easily or deployed en-mass. Especially since so many in her own country were completely unaware of their revival.

They were alone in this fight, she had to accept that.

Every one of these girls was precious

Every one of them was more valuable than anything else.

It was a thought that brought a chuckle to the Komisar's throat. To the commanders in the Red Army, this would have been a laughing matter. The thought of no one individual being too valuable to lose? After all, according to the once great general secretary "Quantity had a quality all its own" didn't it?

But the Red Fleet was different…their girls were huge investments, things that were precious, and needed to be treated with the utmost care. Especially their surface vessels like herself and the others in their cabin.

But the Soviet Union was no more. Their Commanders had all but forgotten them, and their leadership was nothing more than a shadow of its former self.

Everything she'd fought for…gone…Everything they'd all fought for…. just gone…

The once mighty bear that captured the imagination and fear of the entire world, (For better or worse) was now nothing more than a whimpering mulling shadow of what it once was.

When she'd first pulled the newspaper from the trash bin, she could hardly believe what she'd seen. It couldn't be true; how could it be? When she visited the nearby Tiksi library, she'd been dismayed to find that the red star no longer hung anywhere in the City, and while some remained in areas, the obvious power it once held was long gone.

The Union had been dead for years…

There was nothing…no one to greet them, only whispers of a past once thought glorious.

She'd lost her home again, though this time she'd held no part in it. The newspapers in the library's archives were surprisingly well kept despite the town has been slowly- but surely- abandoned over time.

When they'd set their sights on the cabin that now served as their base of operations, they'd done so only with herself and Molotov. She didn't understand exactly how they'd been summoned or why. But their motherland needed them, and they would answer the call to action once more.

"( _Hey, Komrade_ ,)" came Molotov's voice and a sharp pat on the knee, knocking Gangut out of her memories. The roughness of her Vocal cords offset by the genuine concern in her voice. "( _You know you can…_ )"

"( _Just get some sleep Komrade Molotov,_ )" She said, dismissing her subordinate's concern for her wellbeing. It was a weakness she could not afford now. "( _I will try and do the same…yes…sleep will come…_ )"

And with her declaration, her eyes became heavy once again and the Battleship dreamed again.

She dreamed in Red.

* * *

 **Editor's Note:** Hey all, Caboose here! I've got an exciting treat here, although it's bound to tick off Jersey if she finds out...huh.

Anyways, this story comes from "Arkona's Leaf", giving some love and cheer to our resident Russian Shipgirls...well, not too much cheer, really, and hardly any love at all...hmm, I'll get back to you on that. Anyways, I've already got a second part to this as well, so look forward to that. I also plan to release a 'canon' chapter right after this.

If you guys want to contact me with Discord, just PM me and I'll give you my SSID, Addresses, Credit cards...kidding, kidding!

Hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Caboose out.


	53. Fast and Ready Omake(?) Pt 1

"So, hi, everyone. I awaken this account from a four-year quiescence to crosspost some new **canon goodness (per JMPR** ) that I put up last week." -Shadow, Space Battles Forum

 **Early Uploader's Note:** Caboose here. Real quick, I want to say this is something we've ALL been waiting for. Prepare yourselves! See you at the bottom.

* * *

 **Fast and Ready**

* * *

 _Coral was taking hold on a rusting hull. Dark and deep, she slumbered._

 _It was not in her nature to sit idle._

 _Every creak of her slowly-collapsing superstructure, every subsurface groan of her collapsed mast, they grated on her sleeping mind. She'd been built with one purpose, and one purpose only:_

 _Control the Sea._

 _She'd fallen against the Abyssals, died so that the panicked passenger and cargo ships could make port, under the watchful eye of heavy guns and coastal defense missiles. She'd died alone, so that her sisters didn't have to fall with her. When all hope had seemed lost, she had turned into the foe, and smashed them with every weapon at her disposal._

 _She'd been all across the seven seas, from the frigid Arctic to the heat of the Arabian Gulf. She'd been at the vanguard of a wounded nation's response to an act of terror; and whenever Her nation had called upon her, she had answered._

 _Though budget and shortsightedness plagued her with mechanical woes, she attracted to her a crew that could rise above, could make the impossible possible, and made her name shine._

 _ **Bong.**_

 _Above her sleeping form, her ancestors fought the same battle she had. Injectors clicked open, and seven turbines spooled to life._

 _ **Bong.**_

 _Her bridge, silent since her last Captain had fallen, stirred to life. Splintered steel mended where Abyssal shells had torn it asunder._

 _ **Bong.**_

 _Electricity arced and roared across her veins, and wet powder dried from the heat of her soul._

 _ **General Quarters.**_

 _They thought that no warship of her vintage could give rise to a ship spirit._

 _ **General Quarters.**_

 _But twenty-one years was a long time to serve._

 _ **General Quarters.**_

 _Her twin screws churned the water around her into a broad tail of white foam as she ascended. Her sharp eyes opened, and saw the light rushing towards her. Two ship spirits called out for her, for anyone, anyone who could help. Seven hundred souls joined them, begging for aid._

 _ **General Quarters.**_

 _There was no one else who could reach them in time. No one but Her._

 _She would not fail them._

 _She answered their pleas with the screaming power of one hundred and five thousand horsepower, with steel and shell and shrieking missiles._

 _A memory of her last Chaplain floated through her mind as she broke the surface._

 _"... for we are… Tough, Rugged, FAST!... and Ready."_

 _The words of her Captain rang through her mind once more as her 5/54 barked and missiles erupted from her launchers into the face of the foe._

 _"Woe to any enemy that attacks this ship, because the last thing they see before they go up in a ball of_

 _ **fire**_ _and_ _ **ash**_ _, will be a haze-gray destroyer with 55 on its bow."_ _ **I'll make you proud, sir.**_

 **-  
**  
Black screamed as Abyssal shells tore away one of her guns, the little Fletcher racing between splashes as she strove to throw their aim. The Abyssal cruisers astern of her were trying to bracket her, to kill her and get at the people and supplies in the convoy ahead. She bled oil and blood from near misses, and she was _so tired_ of running full-tilt. Her fuel reserves were emptying fast, and her boilers were running hot, too hot.

Little Blakeley plinked away with what she could, but if Black's five-inch guns couldn't do more than annoy the cruisers, Blake's four-inchers didn't even accomplish _that_ much. The little escort had heart, but not firepower.

" _This is Black to anyone in range! Convoy 616 is under heavy attack!_ " Black screeched out over the airwaves between volleys. " _Please! Someone! We need support!_ "

The airwaves bore no good news.

Blakeley's shriek stole her attention back, and Black's head snapped around to see her frantically trying to keep her aft casemate from brewing up. Her armor was shredded by a near miss from one of those eight-inch shells screaming past overhead, and she was losing speed.

" _ANYONE-"_

The sea a hundred meters in front of her on her one-o-clock _erupted._

A girl roared up out of the spray. Haze-gray fatigues wrapped her soaked torso, her skirt fluttering in the wind of her passage. In her hands was a five-inch naval rifle; her legs - _long, long_ legs - were wrapped in steel greaves, a gatling pistol at her hip. Her rigging manifested at the apex of her leap, as her hull came crashing back down into the waves. She pushed up the ballcap that covered her eyes, and those storm-gray orbs flickered to Black.

"DUCK!" she shouted, hand flickering to her hip. Black flinched to the side as an unearthly roar filled the air with fire, and a shell that would have smashed into her back exploded harmlessly half a mile away.

"Who-" Black started, eyes wide.

"No time! Turn about and let's get 'em, sister!" the newcomer barked. Her five-inch boomed, sending shells back at the foe, and her backpack opened, sending missiles roaring off to the edge of the horizon.

"O-okay!" Black said with a hurried nod. Pulling alongside as she turned out, she saw that the girl had the build of a destroyer, but the _size_ of a very, _very_ large light cruiser. The new girl pushed off the water, foam spraying from her props and around her hull. Her long legs carried her up to an eye-watering thirty-five knots, straight into the Abyssals.

She turned her head and looked at Black, a grin dancing across her face, red ponytail whipping in the wind of her passage. "You've got left, I'll take right! I'll keep the shells off us! Let's show 'em what we can do!"

Black felt the other girl's aggressive good-nature rubbing off on her, restoring spirits worn down by hours of cat-and-mouse games with the cruisers. She grinned back. "Right!"

She followed the girl with _55_ blazoned on her shins, straight into the maw of the enemy.

Shells rained around them, but never _hit_. Every time one _might_ , that gatling would snap up and remove it. _55_ was fast on the draw, fast on her feet, and always ready.

It was almost like sailing with Frisco. If Frisco and a Taffy had a lovechild, anyway, that grew up almost as big as Frisco.

The Abyssals stood no chance, and died when the two of them closed to knife-fighting range. Shells pocked their hulls and turned them open; missiles tore off their superstructures. Torpedoes cracked their keels, and finally sent them back to their rest.

It took all of a half-hour.

As they neared the convoy, Black, between stolen breaths, turned to her savior.

"What's your name? I've never seen a kanmusu like you before!"

"Kanmusu?" the new girl asked, quirking her eyebrow, her eyes now hidden behind a pair of black Oakleys. "What's that?"

"It's Japanese. It means… well, basically, ship spirit."

"Oh." the new girl said, nodding. "I'm Stout! DDG-55."

"Wow, you're a _destroyer?_ Me too! I'm Black! DD-666!" Black said, bouncing in place. "Thanks a lot for the save!"

"Don't mention it," she replied with a smile and a dismissive wave. "You needed my help. I was able to. I couldn't well do anything else, could I?"

" _WEWEREGONNADIIIIIIIIIE!_ -" Shrieked a dark haired missile as it wrapped its arms around Black and Stout's middles. The tiny destroyer escort looked up at them both with huge teary eyes. Her flanks ran red and mixed with the crashing waves.

"Oh, c'mere sweetie…" Stout crooned, hefting Blakeley into her arms and receiving the mother of all cuddles from the adorable, round-faced little escort. "It's gonna be fine. You're tougher than you think, than you look, and I've got your back."

* * *

 **Fast and Ready**

(to meet the Admiral!)

Her boots hit the beach, soles crunching up soft yellow sand as her rigging faded away and disappeared. Every step she took shook the earth with a steely _thump_ , packing the sand beneath her feet. Blakeley rested in her arms, her DC teams working overtime to make good her damages. In her embrace, the escort looked even smaller than normal. Her fatigues were starting to pick up a red-black stain that worried the big destroyer.

"So, two questions." Stout began, head twitching left and right as her radar and optics lost their collective minds at the clutter that was Virginia Beach.

"Shoot!" Black said, taking her by the arm and leading her up the dunes.

"Why aren't we pulling into the NOB?" Stout asked, referring to Norfolk-Oceana Base. The Fletcher shrugged her thin shoulders, twitching away her own rigging.

"Well, the harbor's _nasty!_ So much oil and _yuck_ everywhere! The scrubmarines were starting to complain about stains on their swimsuits, and, I mean, yeah, I thought it was mucking up my props' shine! So they moved _us_ over here!" she chirped brightly, waving her arms expansively as they crested a dune.

Beyond the beach was rather… _a luxurious_ set of staff housing sidled up inside Naval Station Dam Neck. Beautiful (and _pricy_ ) houses were formed into a neighborhood for the families of The Brass of the Atlantic Fleet.

Stout whistled lowly. "I've only ever seen these through my optical sight system." she muttered. "Or, well, _I_ haven't, my crew has, but-"

"I get it!" Black said, face scrunched up in a broad, eye-touching smile. "We're all amalgams of our crews' experiences, bound up into an entirely new personality! So, we _all_ have moments like that. You should see how some of the World War Two ships interact with the German and Japanese ships - you'd think the war hadn't ended yet! Then two minutes later they'll be giggling over tea or coffee!"

"Oh, joy." Stout mumbled, rolling her eyes. "So you're saying, once I walk in there, I'm walkin' into the World War Redux International Reenactment Club."

" _Noooo_ ," Black said, waving her hands frantically. "Well, I mean, as long as you don't wander across Wales and Bissy at it again…"

Stout laughed, and Blakeley squirmed sleepily as the motion disturbed her rest. She quickly stopped laughing, concern flitting across her face.

"Second and more serious question - what do we do about..?" she asked, lifting the little escort slightly to emphasize who and what she was talking about.

"Oh! We take her to the docks." Black said, as if that explained everything.

Stout's eyes flickered over to the sailing marina, and her eyebrow raised again. "Over there?"

Black followed her gaze and shook her head. "I mean, we _could_ , but she might float away! No, we've got our _own_ docks. C'mon!" The hyperactive destroyer grabbed Stout's sleeve again and hauled her bodily. _Her_ steps didn't make the earth quake, much to Stout's annoyance. But, still, she geared her turbines to full power and loped along with her diminutive ancestor-ship, making good time to the gate. Two armed sentries saw the ship spirits and waved them through, raising the barrier for them to pass at a very respectable twenty five knots. Stout left a trail of cracked pavement in her wake, and she finally just had to _shut off_ her radar because it was starting to give her a headache - and whiplash.

They pulled up to a stately and ornate house, all red brick and marble pillars, and dashed around the side. A pair of wide French doors stood open, steam wafting out from within. Black slowed her run, and Stout slowed with her as they entered.

Inside, a massive - and very _warm_ \- pool sank into the ground, deep enough that even a submarine would feel happy in it. It _couldn't_ have been part of the original design. The walls were black marble up to waist-height, with yellow gold inlay at the dividing mark between the dark stone and the rough, darkly blue rock that rose the rest of the way to the ceiling. Another doorway lead to a set of stairs that clearly went to the actual first story of the house.

" _This_ is our dock!" Black exclaimed cheerfully, already stripping off her cut-off dress blue jumper. The flying fabric hit the floor at the same time her bellbottoms did, and she took a running leap off into the steaming saltwater. Stout's eyes followed her trajectory with pointed interest.

 _Well, at least I know where I got my legs from._

The little Fletcher surfaced a moment later, floating on her back with a contented sigh. One brown doe-eye cracked open and looked back at Stout, and she smiled. "Just lower her in - gently! - and she'll do the rest! You should give it a try too! It's _sooo_ relaxing!"

Stout blinked and made a confused noise, before sighing. "Sure… makes as much sense as anything else now, I guess! Just let me-" she said, before her stomach rudely interrupted her, and her CHENG voiced her very vocal complaint at the state of her fuel reserves. WEAPS joined in a moment later, nagging her about ammunition stores. And, just for funsies, SUPPO happily informed her that her crew was annoyed by the lack of provisions in her stores. "Eh, sorry!" she said. She realized, then, what hunger was. And she was _starving.  
_  
"Oh! There's a kitchen upstairs! Some of the Admiral's staff work there and they make _amazing_ food!" Black said, righting herself and floating over to the side. "Why don't you go tank up while I get Blake changed into her swimsuit? Feel free to join us after~" she ended with a playful lilt.

"Food. Food is good." Stout agreed. Black pushed herself out of the pool, having apparently worn her swimsuit _under_ her blues, and took Blakeley's sleeping form in her arms.

"Off ya go! Try the biscuits n' gravy! Oh! And CS1's waffles are to die for!"

Stout waved for about half a second before her various department heads demanded her attention once more, and she fled up the stairs, each of which creaked and groaned under her advance.

The smell of _food, glorious food!_ sent her mouth to watering before she even saw the kitchen, and she homed in on the smell like a Harpoon on an enemy radar. She burst into the kitchen and saw two cooks working away, preparing the mountains of food required to sustain a fleet of shipgirls. Stout drew in a squeaky breath, eyes wide.

" _Ohmygoditalllookssodeliciousssss!_ " she squealed.

The taller of the two cooks was, in fact, a Chief, and he chuckled good naturedly without even turning around. He picked up a rag on the counter next to him and wiped the sweat off his dark brown skin. "How's it goin' kiddo? You new?"

"Yeah!" Stout all but shouted. "How'd you know?"

"Heard you comin' up the stairs, for starters. Also, seems like _all_ the girls have that reaction to their first meal that ain't bunker oil." He pulled a burger patty as big as Stout's head off the grill - an actual, honest-to-goodness _charcoal_ grill, fan above it sucking out the vapors and shunting them outside as flames licked sizzling meat.

Stout's eyes were as wide as dinner plates as she watched him put the massive burger on an equally massive, freshly-baked bun that all but _glowed_ from the butter he'd brushed onto it. He turned around, and his face was kindly, a wry grin on his lips. "You've gotta be starvin'. Hell, this was for Wales, but I figure I can make another. It's just about the only single food item I've found that I can feed a battleship on with less'n a dozen of. You like onions?"

"I… I dunno? I've never had them…" the destroyer said, unable to tear her eyes away from the food.

"Well, we're about to fix _that_." he said. "I'm gonna do this up _my_ way, aight? Gimme a minute, grab y'self a plate off the counter over there, and bug CS1 for some of his tater tots. 'Less you think you're more a brunch person, of course, in which case he's got french toast sticks today."

Stout nodded vigorously and scurried over to the side, looking over the assembled plates. One caught her eye in particular, and she hefted it, before speeding back to the Chief's side. He looked up from putting the finishing touches on her burger, his eyebrow rising.

"Kiddo, y'know that's a serving platter, right?"

"No I didn't! But, I do know that I'm _starving..!_ " Stout pouted, her stomach growling uproariously to drive home her point and add punctuation to her words.

"Aight, aight! Here y'go. Chief's Special!" he said, chuckling and putting the mammoth construction of meat, cheese, bread and veggies on her plate. "Don't ever say I didn't do nothin' for ya. Hey, CS1! Get this girl a pile of your finest."

"On it." the burly Polynesian man grunted, walking over with a plate piled high with food. He pushed it off onto her platter; french toast, tater tots, fries - you name a side food, it seemed to be there. He turned about with surprising agility and plopped a bowl of hot syrup and a squeeze bottle of ketchup on her platter a moment later. "My rec is that you save the sticks for last. Rest of the kanmusu around here have a sweet tooth a mile long, but you might not be like that. Plus, you'll enjoy 'em more if they're the last thing, y'know?"

Stout beamed, and carefully maneuvered her tray onto the countertop, ignoring her stomach's calls for sustenance, and hugged the big man. "Sounds good! _Thank you!_ " she said, before bouncing off of him and over to the Chief, wrapping him up too.

"Eeeeeasy there kid." the Chief said with a chuckle. "You're a lot stronger than you think you are."

"Sorry!" Stout squeaked, blushing furiously and letting him go.

He rubbed his side, but didn't stop smiling. "Ah, it's nothin' worth worryin' about. I've got a couple daughters of my own - ain't nothin' I've not had happen before."

And like that, the destroyer was back to beaming gratitude.

The Chief picked up an altogether more sanely sized portion of food, and beckoned to her. "C'mon, grab your grub, I was just about to bring the Admiral his lunch anyway. Figure I'll introduce you."

Stout picked up her platter and followed the Chief down the hall and into an elevator. A minute later, they were standing outside the Admiral's door.

RADM J. CHEATHAM, USN

Stout's breath caught in her throat.

The Chief knocked on the door, and a baritone " _Enter!_ " sounded from within. He pushed the door open. "Mornin', Admiral! How's your day goin'?"

The man behind the desk was stocky, powerfully built, and _maybe_ a shade lighter in skin tone than the Chief. He had a kindly face, but memories of Movie Nights on her mess decks long past _wanted_ to pair him with a man named Morpheus. All he needed was sunglasses.

Which Stout knew he had.

"Oh, it goes, Chief. I've got Wales and her escorts on their way back from smashing an Abyssal foothold in Bermuda, so it's going pretty good, I think. Haven't heard back from Convoy 616 yet, though. I'm a little worried."

"Well, I've got somethin' here that might help with that. It's my favorite day of the week."

"Oh hell, is it Wednesday already?" The Admiral said, blinking.

"Yessir! And that means burgers."

"Oh, thank God. I didn't eat this morning. You, Chief, are a lifesaver."

"That's my job, sir, but don't go 'round thankin' me just yet. Got a new girl here with me." he said, finally moving out of the way of the door enough for the Admiral to see Stout standing there wide-eyed.

The Admiral smiled. "Well, come on in! Did you just get summoned?"

Stout nodded mechanically, seemingly unable to find her voice. The Admiral grinned, and gestured to the chair on the other side of his sizeable desk. "Well, go ahead, let's eat and we'll get to know each other. We're gonna be working together quite a lot."

Stout found her voice then. "Sir, I believe we already _have_."

His eyebrow quirked. "Oh? I don't think I've seen you around before…"

She shook her head. "No, sir… when I last knew you, you were my Captain."

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"Please welcome the only modern USN shipgirl, USS Stout, DDG-55, Burke class!" -Shadow, Space Battles Forum

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-"Before any of ya'll get any ideas, I'm only letting Omake writers write modern boats if they're actually _on_ said current boat at the time.

That said... ** _holyfuckstout'scute."_** -TheJUMper, _also_ from the Space Battles Forum-

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 **Uploader's Note:** Damn. How about that? I've been dying to release this one. So, I _think_ this is canon? I had to jump up from my chair and squeal like a little girl for a minute. Personal story, I met a rather high ranking Naval officer (Retired) in DC during my...hospitalization. I, an Army punk, started talking about how much I appreciate the Freedom and firepower that an _Arleigh Burke_ gives. Well, he shook my hand and introduced himself as one of the head designers of the whole _Burke_ Platform!

Well, I can put that side story there because it's at the bottom of this all. Do you guys even read these? ;)

Caboose out!


	54. Omake: Doggos! Part 1

**Uploader's Note:** For those of you who came from the forums, thank you for rereading here. More importantly, it seems this uploaded story has caught the attention of Admiral_Corgi him(?)self, one of the better writers on the forums. They approached me directly, giving me permission (and what feels like a firm suggestion) to post it here. After all, good folks deserve to read good stories, right? So, I'm putting his note in, as well. About **9,900 words.**

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 **Admiral_Corgi, 11OCT2018:** Well folks, after seeing how many of ya'll like the preview. Though I did have to make a slight change to some of the things seen in the preview to make thing flow better here in the full omake, it isn't anything major. Anyways here's the full omake. I hope ya'll enjoy this. And don't worry, I'm 93% certain that the next one of these I write won't be anywhere near as long as this first one was! I promise!

 **Omake: An Officer and his Dogs**

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[=]

William jolted awake in his bed, his breathing was labored and his heart thundered against his ribcage, sweat was beaded all over his face and pooled on around his back before soaking into the sheets. He blinked several times and rubbed his face with his hands to clear away the vestigial remnants of the nightmare he had. A few seconds later he felt a small but heavier than expected and warm paw lightly scratched at his chest, which further pulled his thoughts away from the nightmare he had awoken from.

Pulling his hands from his face, A glance down revealed the Corgi that was sleeping at the foot of his bed was now awake and pawing at him, even with his darkness adjusted eyes it was almost impossible to see the dog's features in the near complete darkness.

"Its okay boy, it was just a bad dream, that's all." He said to dog in the dark as he rubbed the top of its head with one hand and scratched its ear with the other. The Corgi leaned into the touch and William could feel it wag its tail, the dog seemingly satisfied with his answer and the affection; jumped off the bed and waited by the door.

William glanced over to his alarm clock and noted the time was 0315. He groaned slightly as he realized he woke a full hour before his alarm was set to wake him, again and only managed to get 4 and a half hours of sleep, again. However, he couldn't go back to bed, even if he wanted to, now that he was up. It was time to start the day.

"I know, just make sure everyone else is up by the time I get outta the shower dressed alright?" William said to the dog as he opened the door to his quarters and allowed the Corgi out of his room, the dog gave him a short cheerful bark before trotting out the open door. William closed it again and then made his way to his quarters' personal shower.

A few minutes and one hot shower later, he was dressing into his NWU's, though before he pulled his pants up, he looked at the scar on his right thigh. A ragged, jagged line of angry pink that stretched from near the top of his knee to a few inches shy of the bottom of his hip. One of the constant reminders to him of that week, that first god awful week and what he went through back then.

Shaking his head to dispel the memories that threatened to bubble up, he pulled up and buttoned his trousers before he finished getting dress. Once he was presentable, he strode out of his quarters and down the hall that opened up to the rest of the building, past the doors quartered the other members of his group. Quiet shuffles of pawed feet clued him in that the PT boats were waking up and climbing out of their beds. The fact that the lights were on in the Kitchen area and he could smell the coffee even from the other end of the building meant only one thing. Gunnery Sergeant Clayton was already up and about.

As he strolled across the open room that served as the PT Corgi sleeping area to the open kitchen, William was already thinking about the day ahead. The reports he'd have to write up and send to his superiors, the post-patrol reports the returning night rotation would give him. The more immediate issue of feeding the 48 PT Corgis of the Day rotation before they headed out for their 12 hour shift. And much much more, however, all of that was to the wayside for the time being. He couldn't do much of anything without coffee, and he needed a damn cup of coffee right now.

"Thanks Jim." William said to Gunnery Sergeant Clayton as the Marine handed him a mug of black coffee. A single sip sent the last lingering vestiges of his sleepiness fleeing like the morning fog before the hot summer sun. "Extra strength?" He asked inquisitively to the Gunny. Who only nodded before he walked over to the stove and began preparing something.

"Yep, Figured you needed it, Wallace, because you kinda look like shit man," Clayton said as he cracked some eggs into a pan and began frying them. William didn't bristle or get angry at Clayton's behavior or the casual usage of his middle name, partly because the two of em had been friends for years even before they both had entered the Armed Forces. Partly because he had told his friend to drop the formalities either when nobody else was around or when he needed Clayton to tell him exactly how things were without sugar coating it. The later, Clayton was particularly good at. Letting a soft sigh pass his lips, William took another hearty sip of the black elixir.

"I guess you're right Jim, didn't get much sleep again," William said with a measure of resignation to his voice, life hasn't been easy in the area around New Orleans since Pearl fell, even though he had heard that Pearl was just recently liberated. It'd still probably be a few days at best, or a week or more at worst before the shipgirls that were normally stationed in the Gulf returned. In the meantime, his PT boats would have to try to fill in the gaps as best as possible. Or least, take some of the burdens off of the ship girls still stationed here in the Gulf Region.

His PT boats were roaming as far west as Galveston, Texas and as far east as Panama City, Florida; from their home station of Port Fourchon. Admittedly only having two squadrons going east and two going west meant the day and night Rotations were rather thinly spread out themselves when they sortied. But it did mean that some of the pressure on the remaining Destroyers and Cruisers stationed in the Gulf was eased ever so slightly. William was pretty sure all the Dogs understood that clearly. They often showed themselves far smarter and more resourceful than one would expect from a dog. William always figured it was because of the nature of PT boat operations during WWII that gave them those traits.

After he finished his mug of Coffee and the fried eggs Gunnery Sergeant Clayton was kind enough to make for the both of em. The two heard the sounds of the other five members of their rag-tag crew waking up and walking out of their rooms. "Jeez don't ya two ever sleep?" Came the disbelieving voice of Petty Officer Third Class Simon Lake. "Early risers get the best pickings Petty Officer Lake," William said with just a tad bit of sarcasm to his voice.

The petty officer grumbled something about sleep as he and other four dog handlers made themselves a quick cup of coffee and a bite to eat. As they did, William and Gunnery Sergeant Clayton when about feeding the PT Corgis, it wasn't a full meal because the dogs' fuel reserves weren't depleted, but it was a top off before they went to go on their 12-hour patrol shift.

William didn't mind handling the bags of dog food and helping out with filling the bowls. He'd do the same thing that the men under him would unless it was something he couldn't do himself, the men and it also seemed like the dogs themselves respected him for that. Though he did admit that life for him and his men would be easier if they had a few more people on hand to handle the workload.

After the last of the dogs were fed and the other members of his unit had a quick bite to eat, it was a few minutes to 0445. Which now meant he needed to get moving, by the time the dogs were fitted into their rigging and assembled at the landing, the night rotation would be coming in. William looked at Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, who only gave him a nod before gathering his marines to help set out food for the returning night rotation.

William headed towards the equipment shed with Petty Officer Lake and Warrant Officer Sanderson, the 48 PT dogs of the day rotation followed hot on their heels. As the three Navy men entered the shed and flipped the lights on, they started pulling riggings off their racks and stacked them on carts according to who was fitting out which PT boat. The PT Corgis for their part were coming through the dog door in a neat ordered line arranged by squadron and waited for the Navy men to affix their rigging to them.

William had seen twice before in the past how involved putting on a ship girl's rigging could be when he was in New Orleans. He was thankful that the process of helping the Corgis put their rigging on wasn't any nearly as involved. Actually, the process itself was far more like putting a doggy life vest on the PT boats than assembling a mysterious piece of equipment on the dogs. The procedure was simple enough on paper, he and Petty Officer Lake would take a vest and buckle it onto a PT Corgi before letting the dog go to Warrant Officer Sanderson, who'd do the final check to make sure everything was on snugly before letting the dog walk out of the shed's exit door.

Even though the process was simply on paper, and in practice, the sheer number of PT Corgis meant the three of them had to be very swift in their motions to get everything done on time. Almost fifteen minutes of Organized Chaos later saw the three men exit the equipment shed, Warrant Officer Sanderson and Petty Officer Lake jogged back to the PT boat Barracks to give Gunnery Sergeant Clayton's Marines extra help with setting up the meal the returning night rotation would utterly demolish.

As for William himself, he looked at the assembled PT boats to make sure all were present and then he started down toward the concrete landing of the floating dock. The PT dogs silently followed him in formation. It wasn't terribly far of a walk from the equipment shed to the dock landing, and the morning coolness certainly made the trek more bearable. But it still was roughly 200 feet of walkway to cross.

Recently built walkway. Just about everything military related here was built within the last year and a half. All of it a response to Abyssal threat posed against the Gulf region.

William knew this place wouldn't ever become a proper Navy Port, at least not anytime soon. The current setup and layout of the oil facilities present here precluded that, and they were too critically important to the war-effort to dismantle and move further inland. So the Military compromised and turned the wetlands area around and to the west of the port into an ad-hoc Naval base. Most of the Major Facilities were located just to the west of the port itself, though his section of the base was practically right in front of the oil and pipeline facilities.

There were a few more shore batteries and AA guns in his area of the base than the others to better protect the oil and pipeline facilities but William knew that it probably wouldn't be enough to repel a determined abyssal force that managed to get past the Maritime air patrols, the conventional ships that patrolled the waters around the base, and the PT Corgis stationed here. Really speaking, this base was just the advance warning for the Main Gulf Theater operations base in New Orleans in the event of a Major Abyssal assault. In a cynical sense, they were meant to buy as much time as possible for New Orleans to muster up a proper defense.

He shook his head slightly to dispel those thoughts from his mind. He didn't need to dwell on thoughts like that, especially now since he could just see silhouetted by the early morning sun, the PT Dogs of the night rotation coming in. A quick look at his watch read 0525, pretty much right on time. William walked forwards from the dock landing out onto the floating dock itself, he walked the entire 150-foot length of the floating dock and waited at its edge for the night rotation to come in.

He didn't have to wait much longer, as the dogs came up the edge of the dock in three neat ordered lines of sixteen. "Patrol boats, permission to come ashore granted. Fall in and get some chow, Squadron leaders, make sure patrol reports are in my office by 0745." He said to them before they climbed up onto the docks and hurried along up the dock to the landing to form up in their groups before dashing off to the PT Barracks.

He watched them for a short bit as he came back to the dock landing with the last trio of PT boats from the night rotation. He always tried to catch sight of the moment where their rigging vanished into thin air, but alas he's never once yet seen it happen. This morning wouldn't be different from all the others in that regard.

Turning his attention away from the retreating forms of the night rotation and towards the day rotation, he started walking down the length of the floating dock once again, the PT boats of the Day rotation following close behind him, and as he reached the end of the dock he turned to his side to allow the dogs to Pass by.

"Patrol Boats, Permission to Sortie Granted, return here by 1700. Watch yourselves out there, and come back safe." William said to the Corgis before they stepped off the dock and onto the water. As they formed up into their squadrons they departed with headings towards their designated patrol areas. William himself remained on the dock for a couple of minutes after the last of the PT dogs had formed up and departed with their squadron before he started his way back to the PT Boat barracks.

He'd see if there was anything he could do to help Clayton and the others with feeding the night rotation. Unlike the day rotation who had just half a scoop more dog food than what'd one normally expect to feed a Corgi for the day to top off their fuel reserves. The Night Rotation was running on close to empty.

Individually, a hungry PT Corgi couldn't even eat as much as a Destroyer ship girl could, unless the rumors he'd heard on the grape vine about the Akizuki-class were true. However a pack of 48 Hungry PT Corgis could probably make more than a handful of battleships balk at just how much food they could utterly demolish.

As He reached the PT Boat Barracks, William was greeted by the tail end of the controlled chaos that was feeding a returned patrol rotation. There wasn't much for him to do besides help Pfc Ellen and Sergeant Banks carry out the two dozen or so empty 55 pound bags of dry dog food to the dumpster. As well as move about three and half dozen more bags from the Storehouse to the Barracks Building proper.

William didn't mind doing this kind of work, though he did strongly believe that his group needed at least a few more people with the correct qualifications around to ease the workload. But then again, the tempo of operations here was several times higher than it normally was, because his Dogs had to pick up the slack left behind by Alaska's and Saratoga's departure from the Gulf for the effort to retake Pearl.

As William returned to the Barracks building and made his way over to his office, he wondered how much longer his rag-tag crew could keep up the pace of operations, he wondered how much longer the Dogs could take this tempo too. They've been able to manage for the past two and a half weeks, but he could see the fatigue starting to build up and it was only a matter of time before something gave. Or the stockpile of dry dog food ran out.

William took small comfort in the fact that at, the very least, the Barracks building and its rooms were air-conditioned. If they hadn't been, William knew that morale here for both Human personnel and the dogs would be rock-bottom. Letting a heavy, tired sigh out the Lieutenant sat down at his desk and opened up the laptop that rested on it. A quick check of the Email confirmed that nothing major was developing...yet.

Though he did see news regarding Pearl, that during the effort to retake the base and right after the base was retaken several shipgirls were summoned, Several battleships at that. Which good news, very good news for William, maybe his PT Corgis and Support Staff can finally catch a much-needed break in the very near future. Though he did pause when he saw that among the ships that had returned, Missouri and Wisconsin were amongst them. His eyes flicked back to reread the statement in the email again to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

When William realized what he was reading was indeed real, a happy smile broke across the Lieutenant's face with a very relieved sigh. USS Wisconsin always had a special place in William's heart, she was the first museum ship he had ever visited back when he was a kid, and it was that visit to her that started his fascination with the Navy, which ultimately led him to join the Navy once he was out of High school, almost Seven years before this War had started. He had been devastated when News broke that she was sunk but felt a sense of pride that she went down with Zero hands aboard her.

Now seeing that she has returned, he felt that he could probably start sleeping easier at night in the near future, even if Wisconsin was reassigned to guard the Panama Canal again. A small scratchy tap broke him from his thoughts, he blinked and looked up from his screen. "Enter." He calmly said one of the PT Corgis came into the room through the dog door. William rolled his chair back a bit to be able to reach down and take the small stack of large postage stamp sized papers the Fairy standing on top of the Corgi's head held out for him. They were the post-patrol reports he had asked for earlier.

A glance at the wall clock showed that it was 0720. He briefly wondered how just how long had he actually been staring at his emails, but only briefly. He watched the Fairy move to the Corgi's collar before disappearing behind it. "Thanks," he said to the dog before giving him a few pats on the head and a couple scratches under the chin. The dog made a happy sound and then left the room. William placed the small stack of reports on his desk, he carefully picked one up and read it. Somehow, though means he had long ago given up trying to explain, he was able to read the details of the report perfectly well despite the super-tiny print and every word in it was 'Bork'.

William wasn't sure why he was the only one out of his ad hoc unit to be able to see the Fairies at all times when they wanted to show themselves and understand them clearly whenever they decided to speak. Though he figured it was a question whose answer would only confuse him even further than the concept of it already had. He took some comfort that his friend Gunnery Sergeant Clayton had seen the fairies once or twice before as well. At least then William knew his job hadn't made him gone crazy yet.

Thus he started the process of compiling the PT Corgis patrol reports into an overall report of what was going on in the Gulf last night. The consensus was, things had been quiet lately, the only real thing of note was that there was a brief sighting of an Abyssal Submarine 90 miles from the shoreline and 120 miles east of Galveston but that was quickly run down and depth charged to oblivion in the shallows by PT Squadron 3. Though they did loiter around the area until a destroyer came by and made certain the monster was well and truly dead. After all, PT boats didn't have many Depth charges, to begin with.

William didn't realize how much time had passed by the time he had finished transcribing and compiling the post-patrol reports from the Night Rotation, sent the report in an email to his superior, and then fill out several requisition forms for additional supplies. The normal stuff really, Dog Food, tools and parts for Warrant Officer Sanderson needed to do better maintenance on the PT's rigging. The Lieutenant sighed again as he filled out another form personnel request form, he needed someone else who could do the kind of work Sanderson did and was trained to handle dogs. If for nothing else than to ease the workload Sanderson had.

"Poor Mitchel, he's just as or even more overworked than I am." William murmured quietly to himself as he sent the myriad of electronic forms to the inbox of the logistical department. Before he could think further on how much longer his weapons specialist could keep up with the demands of making sure 96 sets of rigging were still working in proper order with the current intensity of operations. A knock on his office door, this one heavier and distinctive, tore him from his thoughts. "Enter."

"Hey, Braveheart, you lost track of time again. It's 1525." Came the rather gruff voice of Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, in one hand was a tray of food, possibly from the base Mess Hall proper. And it was then that William realized that he hadn't eaten much of anything since waking up. Though a mildly annoyed expression crossed the lieutenant's face as the Gunnery Sergeant came in and placed the tray and a glass of ice water on his desk before taking a seat.

"Thank you, Jim, though did you have to use that nickname?" William said as he took a big bite out of a slice of Pizza. "Would ya have preferred me using one of the new nicknames the enlisted on base came up for you instead. Sir?" Came the reply from Clayton, a smug expression on his own, an expression of sudden dread and gloom appeared on William's at the statement.

"Do I even want to know what today's nickname is even?" William asked before he demolished the rest of the pizza and drank half the water in one go. "No, you probably don't want to know Sir, just know it won't be a problem when you next go to mess hall." Clayton said with all seriousness in his voice.

"Jim, what have I said about keeping formalities when its just us? For Pete's sake we've been friends for so long we may as well be brothers. But...thank you for that. I honesty don't need any more nicknames than what I already have." William said to the marine with a bit of exasperation, He sighed and placed his now empty tray off to the side. "Anyways what's up? Besides bringing my forgetful overworked ass chow, you usually got a good reason to stick around in my office." The lieutenant asked.

"You heard the news about Pearl sir?" Clayton asked curiously.

"I have." Came the sharp reply from the Lieutenant.

"So do you think we'll be getting any relief any time soon William? The Dogs do good work at helping to fill in the gaps when the heavies departed for Pearl but they need some down time to recuperate, Earlier I had to walk half of PT Squadron 1 over to that ship girl repair dock the base has because they weren't running right. Hell, I dare say some of em might be ready for a rebuild or something hell if I know for certain William, just something seems different with most of Squadron 2." Clayton said with some measure of frustration. William knew Clayton hated not understanding things and everything regarding stuff like Ship girls, and PT Corgis was still very much a learning process for everybody involved. Even almost a year and a half after the Navy figured out the secret to summoning US ships back.

William gave a sigh and a thoughtful expression for a few moments before he spoke. "I don't know Jim, you and I both know all too well how the Brass is like. We can only hope that some of the Heavies are flying back here now. But being realistic, its probably gonna be a week at the least before things get back to anything that resembles normal around here." William said to his life long friend with frustration of his own.

"I know and don't worry William, just because those beautiful heavies are just around the corner to being back in the Gulf with some new faces. Doesn't mean I'll drop my guard or let anyone else drop theirs, even you sir." Clayton said with a wide grin.

"Thanks, Clayton, I appreciate it." William said to the other with relief. He was glad to know his best pal and confidant wouldn't let him or anyone else slip up in their duties when the promise of some measure of relief was just around the corner. Though as William finished one last form for the day, at least till the Day rotation came in a roughly an hour and a half from now anyways, a devious devilish smirk appeared on Clayton's face. Which made William freeze up, he knew what that smirk meant. Clayton was about to troll him something fierce, but William couldn't figure was what the hell the marine was going to troll him with... 'Oh god no! Please tell me he doesn't know!' was the Lieutenant's panicked thought.

"Sooo I heard that among the ships that returned when the Navy retook Pearl was USS Wisconsin~"

"Jim please no-" Begged William, futilely at that, as he felt his face starting to get flushed. He knew Clayton, and Clayton sure as hell knew the feelings William had about USS Wisconsin since they were both kids.

"I've seen that Fleet Idol's twitter lately, Whisky sure does look cute William~" Now Jim was mentally knocking the wind out of William before dealing the final blow.

"Jim! Don't you-" William tried to warn his friend, but alas Jim was always quicker when it came to delivering the final line.

"Maybe I can get that Idol to get the two of ya to meet up~" Jim finished with a almost evil smile plastered on his face as he got up and sprinted out of the Lieutenant's office. The statement had stunned William such that he didn't realize Jim had left the room until after he heard the door close. It took all of a second for the full weight of Jim's statement to be realized by William. When it was...

"GUNNERY SERGEANT CLAYTON!" Came the embarrassed and fuming shout from William. If anyone else outside of the often nicknamed 'Dog Squad' heard the Lieutenant's shout, they would swear that it sounded like an angry dog's bark or a shout not out of place on a sitcom from the 60's or 70's.

The other members of the rag-tag PT boat Support unit, didn't pay the shout any mind. Partly because they knew how well and for how long The Gunnery Sergeant and the Lieutenant had known each other. Part of it was due to the Gunny telling everyone else what his plan was when he'd visit the Lt. And lastly they all had bets on how the Lieutenant would take Clayton's trolling. And Pfc Ellen just won the entire pot.

Realizing that there was nothing now he could do to stop the Gunnery Sergeant, if the Gunny was planing on actually carrying through with his word. Jim had BS'd him enough times in the past that there was a slim chance that his old friend wouldn't actually contact that quadruple-dammed traffic cone to arrange a meet up with the Iowa-Class Battleship. But then again on the other hand, he knew his friend far too well. William pinched the bridge of his nose hard and sighed yet again.

"At this goddamn rate, I'm gonna end up becoming the Male Gulf version of Sara Gale!" The Lieutenant said in exasperated defeat, while things did work out for Gale, the amount of suffering she's had was Legendary. At the very least the Navy saw fit to give her a promotion based on all the work she did...and all the suffering she went through playing Destroyer minder. Among other things.

William himself on the other hand, wasn't quite sure he'd be able to handle the full spectrum of crazy that seemed to accompany the more... eccentric ship girls. Giving himself a double pat on the face to clear his thoughts. The Lieutenant decided that he needed out of the office. ASAP.

So he walked out of his office once he was sure he didn't have anymore paper work to do and went outside to observe Gunnery Sergeant Clayton and his three Marines playing with the PT Boats in a baseball field sized patch of grass speficically meant for the PT boats to get additional exercise when they weren't on sortie. Well it looked like mere play at first glance but seeing the Dogs break up into small elements and attempt to steal the tennis ball from one of the marines within the 20 second window had to hold the ball before they tossed it to one of their fellows was in some sense a drill for attack tactics.

William had to hand to Jim for coming up with that manner of training the PT boats, the side benefit of all this was that it was a good way for the rest of the Human portion of the unit to get exercise and maybe for just a moment forget their troubles. Though William just wished that the color of the tennis ball wasn't the same eye searing orange color of that Light Cruiser's dress.

Even though part of him was distracted with trying to keep the persistent annoying ear worm that was some of the Fleet Idol's more memorable sounds and jingles. Another part of him reacted automatically when Sergeant Banks in a moment of panic, pitched the Tennis ball right at the Lieutenant.

It was only when William reflexively caught the ball did he realize that Sergeant Banks threw it to him. And the next thing he knew, he was playing keep away with the PT Corgis. It didn't last particularly long though, for when William reached the all key 20 second mark. The Dogs came to a halt.

William looked at the dogs once, the annoyingly orange tennis ball in his left hand, and then he locked his gaze on Gunnery Sergeant Clayton. Who suddenly held an expression like he was sweating bullets. "Hey boys." William said to the Corgis after a short sharp whistle. And then he threw the ball at Gunnery Sergeant Clayton with a speed that could make some MLB pitchers envious.

"Go get em boys." William said after he threw the fast ball, which sent the Corgis going full speed. Unlike before, where the dogs would use harassment and distraction tactics to close in, here they went with a full on zerg-rush towards Gunner Sergeant Clayton.

Clayton attempted to catch the ball, but the fast ball bounced out of his hands before they could fully close. And by the time he manged to chase down the skittering ball and pick it up. The PT boats had already closed in.

Watching the Corgis quite literally dog pile Clayton was, cathartic for William. "Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, It seems that you couldn't keep the Ball away from the PT boats for the required 20 seconds after you picked it up. I'm sure you know what this means by this activities rules." The Lieutenant said loud and clear with a smile that from a certain angle and lighting, one might have sworn it was made of nothing but sharp teeth.

Clayton for his part emerged from the bottom of the fluffy pile after a few moments. "Yes sir, I lost, I wash the dogs come Monday." Clayton said with a fair bit of misery in his voice. Though the expression on his face told William that the Gunnery Sergeant had expected this kind of thing to happen to him.

William then went to check on Warrant Officer Sanderson and give the weapons specialist whatever help he could give him. The Lieutenant kinda lost track of time until a alarm on his watch notified him that it was time to get the night Rotation ready for their sortie. Both the Lieutenant and the Warrant officer double timed it back to the barracks to give the PT boats a quick top off meal and then. The next 15 and a half minutes were a mirroring of the organized chaos that had played out earlier that morning.

With a bit of time to spare, William made to the edge of the floating dock to greet the Day rotation as they came in. Now all he needed to do was wait for them.

Looking out at the sea, watching the group of PT boats come motoring back to the dock. William never did quite get used to see both a bunch of, admittedly adorable, Corgis scampering across the surface of the water as fast as their short little legs could take them, but somewhat at the same time, he occasionally saw the scene before him as 48 WWII-era PT boats steaming up to the floating dock. A blink of an eye later, and he once again just only saw the dogs.

When he had first seen it happen when he had started on this assignment, it sure gave him quite a startle, and a unplanned entry to the water. At this point in time though, he was used to seeing that happen, even if he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around why it happened. He had heard that the same happened to people on ships out at sea when they saw a shipgirl, and he believed it wholeheartedly.

He had some experience with Ship girls, mainly Destroyers that occasionally came over to play with the dogs...or snatch one or two away for naps and cuddles. Though the latter were more-often-than-not caused by the Japanese Destroyer ship girls than their American counterparts. A small bark shook William from his thoughts and he glanced back to the edge of the floating dock. The dogs had all gradually came to a halt at the edge of the floating dock, broken up into three ordered lines of sixteen. They were silently waiting for him to give them permission to come ashore, he never quite understood why they did that.

Was it because he was a Navy Lieutenant and therefore de facto commander for them when no one else was around? Was it because he could manage them so well? Or SECNAV forbid, was it purely because of his last name? He didn't know the answer to that question, and something told him that looking for it would just erode his sanity.

"Patrol Boats, Permission to come ashore Granted. Fall in and head off to the Mess hall. Squadron Leaders, make sure patrol reports are in by 1850." The Lieutenant spoke to the dogs before they started to hop up onto the dock three at a time. With a much practice motion, William kept his balance as the floating dock, reacted in interesting ways to the dogs. It wasn't the full weight the actual boats these dogs were, had during the war, but it was still far heavier than what a Corgi should weigh, more in line in with combat-loaded Marines. Yet if he were to pick one of them up now, they'd feel only slightly heavier than the average Corgi would.

How that was possible or made any lick of sense was far and above beyond his pay grade and sanity. So he didn't think about it too much and instead focused on making sure they remained organized and orderly as he followed the first trio to climb up back to the concrete landing the floating dock was attached to. Off to the left side of the landing was another 48 Patrol boats, rigging deployed and sitting quietly at attention, waiting for the incoming group to head off to the barracks.

It was always fascinating to watch the Dogs form up into groups of 12 before they dashed off to the PT boat Barracks. William always figured it was something that was ingrained into em from their past lives as Patrol Boats. Or perhaps it was his influence, as crazy as the world had gotten since the start of the war he always tried to maintain a sense of calm serenity while carrying out his duties even if he was surrounded in chaos. Maybe that was why, he honestly didn't know but he wouldn't rule it out. After watching the last group of 12 form up before dashing off for chow, William sighed heavily. Something he found himself doing more and more often lately.

"I really do need more people, I and six other people aren't really enough to manage 96 PT Boats..." He quietly muttered to himself, the Navy was still quite understaffed and recovering from the quadruple gut punch that had been Blood Week. Adding to that difficulty was trying to find people in the Navy who had experience handling Dogs, which is why four of his six subordinates were Marines.

William took a deep breath to steady himself as memories of that awful week briefly flooded back to his mind. A glance down to the silver bars of the Lieutenant collar device on his NWU's reminded him of how many officers were lost during the pandemonium of that week, reminded him of how he got to his position. Giving a small shake of his head to dispel those troubling thoughts and memories that threatened to drag him down, William looked at the assembled PT dogs of the Night rotation. Their beady eyes looked at him with a feeling that could best describe as concern.

"Don't worry about me boys, I was just thinking how much more work I'd have to do if I ever made it to O-5 or even O-6 before this War is over." He half-lied, it was something that he legitimately thought about and to some degree dreaded, if for nothing else then for the fact that reaching such a rank would likely have him dealing more and more with Ship girls. He wasn't opposed to working with them, but he didn't think he could handle the antics they could get up to.

"Though if I ever did make a senior officer rank, I probably should change my last name to avoid the storm of nicknames that'd come..." William said quietly to himself while turning around to head back onto the floating dock to see the PT boats off. He thought he had said that quietly enough for the PT Corgis to not hear him. That thought was instantly sunk before he even took a step onto the floating dock as he felt 48 pairs of eyes zero in on his back.

William gave another deep sigh and braced himself as he turned back to face the Night rotation, he had heard plenty about phenomena known as 'Destroyer Eyes' from other service members and even experienced it himself a handful of times before. In his expert opinion, while 'Destroyer Eyes' were powerful in their own right. It wasn't nearly as powerful as the Puppy Eyes the PT Dogs were giving him right now. Combined with the soft almost completely inaudible sad whines they were all giving, William felt his mental defense crumble almost instantly under the weight and volume of sad gazes directed at him.

"Boys stop with that, I was only joking! I ain't gonna actually go and change my name, not even if I one day become a Flag Officer! I promise!" He found himself hastily saying, he didn't actually hate his name. Not at the slightest, though the thing he did hate was the plethora of nicknames the initials of his name gave. Most of them Wrestling related because the initials of his full name, William Wallace Corgi, were the same as the initials for the World Wrestling Championship. There were other nicknames that came from his initials, but almost none of them annoyed him more than wrestling related ones.

The other nicknames he hasn't come to loathe in some manner as the ones he's overhead some of the enlisted refer to him with since he and understaffed group started managing the PT boats stationed in New Orleans. "I admit though, provided I ever make it to an admiral rank, Admiral Corgi has a nice ring to it. Hell even if i just make it to captain, Captain Corgi also has a nice ring to it too." William said to himself while rubbing the stubble of his chin with one hand.

While he didn't exactly say the statement aloud in front of the PT Corgis, he wasn't trying to say it quietly in front of them either. Lieutenant Corgi was torn from his thoughts by a sound that was almost like a constant low rumble of thunder. The sound was being caused by 48 tails wagging and slapping the concrete of the landing all at once. "Alright enough that ya'll, time to go Sortie." He said with a somewhat exasperated sigh before he moved onto the floating dock, the PT Corgis following close behind him in lock-step in three lines of sixteen. As he came to a stop at the edge of the dock and turned sideways. The PT Corgis came to a halt and waited, William could feel their anticipation and he didn't want to delay things any further.

"Patrol Boats, Permission to Sortie Granted, return here by 0530. Good Luck and Fair Seas." Lieutenant Corgi Said to the Pt Corgis, totally not stealing that last bit from a video game he used to play somewhat often in his free time before the war started, totally. Watching the Dogs step off the dock and onto the water's surface, organize themselves into twelve boat squadrons before steadily racing off towards their designated patrol sectors to do amongst other things, spot and report on Abyssal surface ships and subs that might be lurking in the Gulf, engaging when and where it was possible or if it seemed like a surface group was making a beeline for either a coastal town or the oil rigs.

William knew those PT boats woun't have a chance in hell against anything bigger than an Abyssal Destroyer in a straight fight. But then again, PT boats never got into a straight fight if it could be helped, though being very fast and small certainly helped in avoid being hit if a fight was to happen. Furthermore, if a fight happened after dark, well The night rotation would be well off, given that only the best night battle capable PT boats were in the Night Rotation. As the last of the PT boats formed up and sped off to the distance, Lieutenant Corgi stood there on the floating dock, quietly praying for his PT boats to come back home safely.

After he finished his quiet prayer, he turned back and started making his way to the PT boat Barracks, after briefly checking his watch and noting that it had been all of 15 minutes since he came out onto the dock to greet the returning day rotation of PT boats and see the Night Rotation off. At this point, he was fairly sure the Day rotation was finished eating, and that the Squadron leaders had left their reports on his desk already, even though they still had almost two hours to fill reports out and hand them in to him.

Part of him figured it was because they respected his firm but not overly strict leadership. Another part of him figured it was because the PT Corgis realized the sooner they handed in those reports and the sooner he finished transcribing them into the report he handed in to his superior. The more time he'd have to go play with them, not that he minded playing with the PT boats, in fact, he enjoyed it when he didn't have other things to do. Though Lieutenant Corgi wondered just how often did the PT boats happen to overhear the Conversations he had with his #2, Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, on how to keep the PT boat's Morale up.

Sure enough, as Lieutenant Corgi got back to the PT barracks he saw Lance Corporal Desmond and Private First Class Ellen carrying out the couple dozen empty bags of Dog food that was the night rotations meal. Giving the two marine a hand with bringing in more bags from the store house to repeat the cycle again come morning. Corgi was starting to feel his exhaustion mounting up.

When he entered the Barracks itself, Corgi was greeted almost immediately by a coffee mug given to him by Sergeant Banks. "Gunny said that you'd probably need this sir."

"Thank you Sergeant Banks. By the way where is the Gunnery Sergeant currently?" Corgi said as he took the Coffee mug and took a generous sip.

"Gunny said that he was picking up some reports and paper work that Administration wanted you to look at, Sir." Banks said crisply while swapping out the five gallon jugs that provided water to the dog bowls. Corgi raised an eyebrow at this news.

"Really now Sergeant? You think they finally found some more Dog qualified people to assign to this outfit?" He asked, with perhaps some amount of hope in his voice.

"One can certainly hope for that, Sir. But the Officer that stopped by here was from New Orleans." Banks said as he finished swapping the last water jug, that bit of info made Corgi's sun-kissed face pale more than a fair bit.

"D-did you catch the name of that officer Sergeant Banks? Or his rank?" Lieutenant Corgi asked, briefly tripping over the first word. Corgi had a sinking feeling in his gut with what the visit could be the signal of, but part of him still held out hope that it was his requests for additional personnel finally being granted. The truth of it would be known once Gunnery Sergeant Clayton returned from the Administration Building with the paperwork.

In the meanwhile, Corgi went back to his office to find the Post-Patrol reports from the day rotation already on his desk. In fact from the look of things, and one slightly chewed up pencil on the desk. It looked like one of the Squadron leaders had attempted to type out the report he normally wrote after reading their post-patrol reports.

"Okay... that don't help clear this uneasy feeling I'm having. At all." William said to himself as he dropped the slightly chewed up writing utensil into a desk drawer and got down to transcribing the Post-patrol reports. Things had been going well at his post, despite everything, it certainly had been nearly three weeks when the last major incident occurred, where one of the Visiting Japanese Destroyer Ship Girls somehow got a hold of thing of super glue and somehow managed to glue herself and two of the PT Corgis together. But something told him that this period of relative quiet was soon to end.

The Lieutenant had finished transcribing the last of the post-patrol reports when Gunnery Sergeant Clayton knocked on his office door. "Enter." Corgi said with no small amount of tiredness in his voice. Looking at Jim's mixed expression, William knew that there was at some good news to be had.

"William-" Clayton started to say before Corgi abruptly cut him off. "Jim, If there's any good news tell me that first, if there's not, then tell me the least bad news first then. Please." William asked his friend. Who seemed to brighten up a fair bit.

"Actually there is some good news William. Navy managed to find some people to fill some of the personnel requests you've filed." Came Clayton's reply, which caused Corgi to sit straight up in his chair with an expression of relief and anticipation painted on his face.

"How many? Is it anyone to help Warrant Officer Sanderson with his Job?... Wait... whats the catch? There's always a damn catch to any good news I get." Lieutenant Corgi said at first with excitement but that gave way to caution half way through.

"A pair of ensigns fresh from Annapolis sir. Whether or not either of them can help Warrant Officer Sanderson with his work remains to be evaluated sir." Clayton said to Corgi, briefly bringing back up the strict professionalism he normally had around superiors.

"Ah fuck it, I'll take what I can get at this point, I'll even happily take Army personnel if the Army is ever willing to lend me some of their men. Can I hope to trust you to help bring them up to speed when they get here in..." Corgi intentionally left the question hanging for Clayton, who for his part didn't miss a beat.

"Three days Wallace, and yes I'm make damn sure they're brought up to speed on how this outfits operates and what to expect." The Gunny said with confidence. Which made Corgi give another tired but relieved sigh.

"And the bad news?" Corgi asked, quietly dreading whatever it was Clayton was about to say next.

"I don't its bad news per say Wallace, but... from how things were like in the Administration building, It looks like they're getting ready to have some ship girls stationed here for... some time. I honestly don't know for certain but I do know these papers probably mention for how long," Clayton said with what could be best described as mixed feelings. Something Corgi was currently sharing with his friend as the Gunnery Sergeant handed him the papers to look over.

On the one hand, it meant things might become easier on them and the PT boats. On the other hand, it also meant that the kind of trouble and shenanigans ship girls could get up to would suddenly become a more normal facet to their already stressful lives. "Clayton, Tell everyone else I'm gonna retire the night earlier than normal once I finish this up." Corgi said as he accepted the folders and looked inside them.

"Of course Sir. Do try to get some rest Corgi. You need it, bad." Clayton said to his friend before leaving the room. One of the PT boats scampered into the room as the Gunnery Sergeant left it. Lieutenant Corgi looked at the PT Corgi as it came over to his desk and laid down on the floor to besides it.

"So you're the one who gonna guard my sleep tonight?" William asked the PT Corgi, who only looked up at him with its beady green eyes and gave a short, affirmative bark. He wasn't sure how he knew the bark was in the affirmative, but he knew it was.

He didn't know why the PT boats seemingly chose one of their own to go with him to sleep at the foot of his bed at night and his bed alone. He had asked the rest of his support staff about it and they told him none of the dogs tried getting into their rooms at night. It was only his room they tried to have at least one of their number in when it was time for him to go to bed. Could it be that they could sense his inner troubles? Did the PT boats consider him one of their own? Was it just because they wanted at least one of them to be with him like how a pet dog would want to be with their owner at night? Something else all together?

Lieutenant William Wallace Corgi didn't know the answer to that question, nor would he attempt to find an answer to the why. All he knew was that the PT boats would do whatever it took to get one of their number at the foot of his bed when he went to sleep at night, even if it meant chewing through the door of his quarters to get access to his room. As he had learned the hard way exactly once when he was originally assigned to be the PT Corgi Minder after the first couple PT boats had been summoned in the area around New Orleans.

William looked had looked over the folders regarding the two new transfers and went about writing and distributing an email to his support staff about the two incoming transfers. Mostly standard Navy Boiler plate, but he did add an additional note to triple check that all the super glue they had was locked down in a manner that a Destroyer wouldn't be able to get access to it without drawing lots of attention. Which basically meant putting the stuff in the bottom two drawers of the Filing cabinet in his office. No Destroyer, he hoped would try looking for the stuff there.

After that was sent out, he looked at the third folder Clayton had handed him, the one that regarded what possibly would be any potential ship girls stationed at this ad hoc auxiliary of a Naval base. Honestly, in his opinion, it was just an extension of the Naval operations base in New Orleans which was just a mere hour and a half or so drive from here at highway speed. Corgi thought about opening the folder and reading it, but then a rather strong yawn suddenly escaped his mouth.

With it came an intense wave of exhaustion. He decided that he could read the folder's contents in the morning since the outside of the folder didn't have any of the red stamped markings that meant he needed to read it then and there. Furthermore, he didn't want to fall asleep in officer again and have Gunnery Sergeant Clayton yell at him for pushing himself too hard, again.

Nor was William wanting to have the PT Corgis drag him to his bed, even if it meant the untimely demise of either the door hinges or the doors themselves if the Dog's fairy crews couldn't get the hinges off or busted. He didn't want to try explaining to base supply why he needed two new doors all a sudden for a second time in three months. The first was bad enough!

So Lieutenant Corgi got up from his office chair and stretched, letting another yawn fly as he did. A look at his watch showed the time to be 20:21. Certainly earlier than he normally would go to sleep at but he didn't think he could force himself to stay up much longer with coffee and work. So he made his way out of his office, PT Corgi hot on his heels, and made his way to his room.

A quick change into his night time sleep wear and the Lieutenant was climbing into bed, the PT Corgi hopping up onto the foot of his bed and curling up between his feet. Did the PT Corgis cause his feet to be a tad bit warmer than he liked them to be most of the time? Yes, yes they did. However, as William had noted, he did sleep a little better at night while having one of those PT Dogs watching over his sleep. Something he was glad for.

William Wallace Corgi sat up in his bed just long enough to Pat the head of the PT Corgi at his feet. As he pulled his hand away from its head he saw a fairy standing on top of it. "Good night, make sure I'm up by 0415. Alright?" He asked the tiny figure, who gave him a salute, or at least as close to one as its oversized head and stubby arms could manage. "Thanks. I appreciate it." Corgi said to the fairy as he fell back onto his pillow.

He was already completely asleep before his head even manged to touch the pillow.

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 **Uploader's Note: Fresh Annapolis cadets?! *Sniggering ensues***

 **Well, time to play some Elco PT boats on Warthunder. Although, I quite like the Bias Botes- who knew that slapping two T-34 turrets and/or a Katyusha on a boat could mean so much fun?!**

 **Hope you enjoyed it. Again, thanks to Admiral Corgi. You used the method of Guest review, so I can't exactly reply to you, but let me know if theres a problem. I also took a bit of time to spellcheck for you.**

 **Oh, would it be easier to contact me on discord? Let me know.**


	55. Doggos! Part 2

**Uploader's Note: Alright, prepare yourselves for a mass update. I feel like splurging, for one- I finally got settled into my new job, college, and other IRL stuff. I'm happy that this has _started_ to get closer to the views that Belated Battleships had, just over 100 followers or whatnot (about 400 to go for all those missing out from Belated Battleships, which remains top of the Kancolle list). You guys all deserve to read this, after all. So, 'Doggos' _and_ The Hunt for Abysall Graf Spee, _and_ some more Commie botes, all at the explicit prompting of the authors- how could I resist?**

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Omake: An Officer and his Dogs part 2: Where Blimpcats are the bane of the LT's life

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" **God dammit. God fucking dammit. I** ** _fucking_** **knew it. I knew some other shoe was gonna drop! I just knew it was gonna happen. I** ** _never_** **have any good luck!** " Lieutenant Corgi fumed as he looked at his email on his smartphone. He made _no_ attempt to keep quiet or suppress the borderline-furious tone of his voice as he flipped on his room's light and pulled a small suitcase out of the closet.

His phone had gone off at some point during the night but he hadn't been woken by it. The PT Corgi that was watching over him during the night on the other hand had heard it and recognized it had to be important.

Of course though, because the normal pawing and whining hadn't succeeded in waking the Lieutenant, the PT Corgi had to use drastic measures to wake him up.

Which involved pulling out his dresser drawers to climb up to the top of the piece of furniture before jumping off it and onto his chest. At least that was what the Fairies told him after the PT boat had woken him up. At two thirty in the morning, almost a full two hours before he was supposed to be up.

" _I knew I was gonna regret letting Pfc Ellen watch Garfield in the PT Barracks."_ Lieutenant Corgi muttered to himself as he got a day bag packed. He figured them seeing that movie was the only way the Corgis could have known that particular trick.

Of course though, the commotion in the middle of the night had woken Gunnery Sergeant Clayton and the rest of the PT boat support staff. Though only the Gunny dared to open the door to the Lieutenant's room to investigate.

"William what the hell is going on?" Clayton asked his friend in a rather concerned manner as he noticed the pulled out dresser drawers, Corgi packing a suitcase while simultaneously trying his dammed best to hate his phone out of existence.

"Jim, You Remember that Lieutenant Junior Grade that came in to take over my post in New Orleans when our unit and most of the PT Corgis got transferred here two months ago?" William asked his friend as he finished packing his suitcase.

"Yeah... Aww hell what happened to him?" Clayton said as realization dawned on him.

"Well, He's laid up in the infirmary right now. I don't know the details just yet, but what I do know is that the LTJG tried to break up a scuffle between one of the PT Corgis and a fucking blimpcat by grabbing the cat and trying to move it away from the PT Corgi. It goes without saying; the LTJG got savaged by the K-blimp." William said with gritted teeth.

[=]

Lieutenant Corgi hated using the radio set in the corner of the PT Barracks to contact the PT boats that were out on patrol. In fact he _despised_ using the radio set for a few reasons, some were practical like the need to maintain radio silence, some though were very personal to him.

Yet he had _no_ other choice but to contact the Corgis that'd certainly be on their way back from their night patrols. And inform them of the situation. The PT Corgis ... didn't take it too well if he or really any of the support staff were suddenly absent without advance notice. Corgi reasoned it was either because of the pack-like nature the PT boats had in their original lives or the fact that they had returned in the present day as dogs. Either way, if he _didn't_ radio in to them about the situation, then they'd probably end up upturning the ad-hoc base over in an attempt to find him.

As his hands picked up the headset, he felt a twinge in his left side. As he placed the headset on, two things struck him at once. One was an old Familiarity, the cozy comfort of memories from happier times. However accompanying that was a wave of phantom pain.

It was transient, there for no more than a split second, but the pain seared and rippled across the lower third of his back with raw intensity. In the pain's wake, came a flood of memories fountaining into the forefront of his mind like water from a five inch hole below a ship's waterline.

Lieutenant Corgi remained steadfast as he wrestled the flood of sights, sounds, smells, feelings, thoughts and sensations from that dark day back then under control once more. It took only a few moments at most for him to finish that task. The only sign of his brief inner struggle visible to the outside was a brief white-knuckle clenching of his right hand. The Lieutenant keyed the microphone on with a heavy sigh.

"Knight Dogs, Knight Dogs. This is Dog-Actual. Priority situation happened at Kennel House, Devil dog-actual will act in my place until the situation at Kennel house has been resolved. How copy?" William said tersely and quickly, naturally he said the message in code so its true meaning couldn't be understood by those who didn't already know its meaning. At least that was his hopes.

He couldn't put faith into _his_ radio being incapable of having its signals intercepted by Abyssal forces. So despite his disdain for using the radio set when the dogs were deployed, he made sure that the dogs, his staff and other friendly units understood the meaning of his coded transmissions. Even if his particular method of coding messages did nothing to abate the dog related nicknames the enlisted and his fellow officers gave him and by extension, the unit he lead.

When Corgi heard four quick barks from the other end of the line, he knew the dogs had received and understood his message. "Solid Copy Knight Dogs, Dog-Actual out." Corgi spoke as with another sigh as he took the headset off and then switched the unit to receive only.

[=]

If there was one thing that Corgi was glad for, it was that there was already a transport truck that had been ready to deliver aviation fuel to New Orleans, the matter was a simple one of having him hitch a ride in the Cab for the little over hour and half drive to New Orleans. The seat wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world and the road wasn't in the best condition either.

Yet despite this, Lieutenant Corgi found himself drifting asleep. But he'd find no restfulness in his slumber, only memories and nightmares awaited him.

His world was darkness.

He couldn't find any light, no matter how hard he tried; he couldn't even see his own hands in front of his face. Sound itself seemly _ceased_ just mere inches outside the confines of his body. Leaving his own rapid fire breathing and terrified heartbeat as the only things he could hear.

And then the world came back to him slowly, the lapping of waves against steel, the groaning of metal under stress... the Screams of the wounded, the dying, those who were maliciously being plucked out of the water by some kind of monstrosity. But all these sounded were muted, muffled by a nigh-all consuming, agonizing ringing in his ears. He suddenly felt himself knocked down to the ground, the right side of his face smacking into something hard and unyielding in the seemingly never ending darkness.

He opened his eyes and realized he could see things other than endless darkness, but he couldn't focus on anything, his world was a blur of colors, his head spun and his limbs felt like they were made of lead dust and wet concrete. He saw a vague mass of black moving along in the distance, slowly closing in...

 **"-utenant! Lieutenant! Are you alright, Sir?"** came the concerned if a bit distant voice of a Marine. A Marine that William realized was the driver of the truck. With desperation like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to flotsam amidst a storm, William jumped up off the deck he was on towards the voice to escape his nightmare.

[=]

Lieutenant Corgi awoke from his nightmare with a hard jolt, jumping up in his seat like his body was a heavy spring that was under a load that suddenly got removed. His seat belt biting into his shoulder as the sudden motion tripped the safety belt arrestor and kept him from banging his head against the cab's ceiling. His Hazel green eyes were wide and madly searching the Cabin for a few transient moments before reality caught up with him.

"What the hell were you murmuring on about in your sleep sir?" The driver asked with a considerable amount of concern in his voice, his head turned as much as he could toward William while still keeping eyes on the road.

"Uh-what? Are we there yet marine?" He asked his Marine driver while rubbing his face with one hand; it was a rushed attempt at changing the subject and deflecting the question. The driver for his part only gave him a nod before answering him, seeing no point in trying to get the LT to answer his original question he turned his head back to facing completely forward. "Yes sir, we just entered New Orleans proper, we'll be at the operations base in about 15."

"Good, good." Corgi said to the marine as his heart rate and breathing finally came back under control. The slight tremor in his hand from the spike of adrenaline that had coursed through his veins until moments ago was concealed by a prolonged check of his wrist watch. It was almost 0415.

He glanced out the window and saw the streets that were illuminated by dim street lights. The light themselves felt dimmer than there were and the shadows cast by them felt deeper and more sinister than they had right to be. Lieutenant Corgi didn't try to sleep for the extra 15 minutes. He wouldn't dare it.

[=]

It didn't take long for Lieutenant Corgi to find the command building and report in for his summons. It took an even shorter amount of time for him to get to the PT Barracks since he still remembered the route to that part of the base from the Headquarters building.

When he entered the building, William saw eight PT Corgis in the main room, who when they saw him. They reacted by doing what William had called 'The PT Boat Shuffle', _knowing_ what was about to happen next, he managed to set his small suitcase aside and get clear of the doorway just as the Corgis finished the shuffle. Which then they promptly tackled him to the ground and attempted to lick his face clean all at once. Needless to say, his face was slobbered and the Dogs that couldn't get his face got his neck instead. Needless to say, William was trying and failing to keep himself from laughing as wet noses and silky snouts tickled his face and neck.

"Okay okay! Stop, stop! I know y'all missed me but come on lemme up please! I have work to do you know." He said in between bouts of laughter he _utterly_ failed to hold in. For a moment, he forgot all about the nightmare he had on the ride over to here, forgot there was a war on. For moment, he felt like a kid receiving the affection of a bunch of puppies. And then that moment passed as the PT Corgis relented and allowed him to get back up on his feet.

Taking a minute to retrieve his cover, which had been knocked off of his head when he was tackled, once he had his cover he then straightened out his NWU's. Once he was presentable again the Lieutenant gave each of the PT boats present head pats and ear scratches. "Alright boys so how was the guy that took my post when the squad and I got transferred over to Port Fourchon?" He asked the PT Corgis.

When he saw their ears drop drown, the happy energy they were showing just prior suddenly vanish, and watched their expressions change; some became sad looking, others agitated. One PT boat even had their teeth bared!

When Lieutenant William Wallace Corgi saw all this, the residual happiness he felt from the PT boat's greeting vanished like a puff of smoke in a hurricane. The smile on his face fell and was replaced by a deep furrowed frown.

"Okay, I want y'all to write a report of exactly what this LTJG has done with y'all since he took over this posting from me. I'll be in the Office to see what he's written up as far as reports go." William said with ice creeping into his voice before he took his suitcase and headed for the office.

William briefly greeted and questioned a Marine he saw poking their head out from one of the Support staff quarters. William learned that besides the LTJG he was the only other person who managed the PT boats, and that the Pfc's comment about doing most of the grunt work. It didn't put a good feeling in Corgi, not at all. He needed to get to the bottom of this and needed to do so soon.

[=]

Needless to say the Lieutenant was thoroughly _unimpressed_ by the job his Replacement in the Big easy had done. It wasn't _completely_ horrible, otherwise he was certain the LTJG would have been removed from his post **well** before this point, but it was just the bare minimum to keep operations moving forward.

"I don't fucking get it. How did this guy fuck things up like this? He only had to manage 16 goddamn PT boats!" Lieutenant Corgi said to no one in particular as he sat in the LTJG's office, which was originally _his_ office before Admiral Raleigh had seen it fit two months ago to transfer him, his support staff, and the Majority of the PT Corgis that were originally stationed in New Orleans to Port Fourchon to keep a Light Quick Reaction Force much closer to the oil fields in the event a monster like the Atomic Battlecruiser Princess ever showed up again.

While William did have his doubts back then on just how effective PT boats would have been in a last ditch effort to stop a monster like that from busting the oil rigs in the fields. He did his marked best to carry out his orders to the best of his abilities with the help of his support staff, and he was reasonably confident to claim that he and his staff had done a good job at preparing the PT boats under his command for such a, nightmare scenario.

The replacement that took over his station here in New Orleans on the other hand, didn't do so well in comparison. Corgi read the reports his replacement had wrote, the PT boats were acting difficult, they kept getting into scuffles with the K-blimps, they kept sneaking off at night, chewed up chairs and doors, and myriad of other things that led to Lieutenant Corgi to come to one conclusion.

The man who had taken Corgi's position in New Orleans when he was transferred to Port Fourchon had almost completely, utterly, _failed_ to read the document that Corgi had left for him that had details on how to effectively manage the PT Corgis. And William suspected that the LTJG who took his post in New Orleans had falsified some things in the reports he was reading right now, because the man's notes and reports didn't have the kind of things that would cause a PT Corgi to bare their teeth. _Something_ was clearly at a miss here.

When he heard scratching at the door, he acted on reflex. "Enter." He said in a casual, but somewhat tense matter. When he still heard the scratching on the door and small whines, he was confused. Standing up from his desk William walked over to the door, and finally noticed that the dog door had been covered over with a bit of plywood. He was shocked for a full second and then, he felt his blood _boil_ if only for a brief moment before he forced himself to regain his composure _._

While tempering his anger he opened the door and allowed the PT Corgi to come in. The Fairy on the top of its head gave him a salute, while holding out a rather large stack of large postage stamp sized papers. William felt his heart and stomach sink at the sight of the reports. Doubly so when he took them back to the desk along with the PT Corgi, who he kept in his lap.

He read the incident reports the crews of the eight dogs had written up detailing the last 2 months. Things didn't seem bad at first and this he read slowly, but as he went on he started to read through them faster and faster as the situation detailed in them deteriorated. His disbelief and shock was quickly becoming anger at the LTJG's actions, he was angry. The neglect and sheer incompetence that his replacement had shown the PT Corgis was damn near straight up abuse. Hell he was sure that some of this _would_ be legally defined abuse in some jurisdictions.

The only thing that kept his mounting anger from completely boiling over was when he read how the only Marine he saw in the Building treated the PT boats and what that marine was like according the PT Corgis. Hard working, doing an honest effort to give the dogs the Care and attention they needed in addition to his other duties, often pushing himself to near total exhaustion. His only real demerit was that he was described as a doormat regarding his Superior Officer. But William wouldn't hold the marine in contempt for that.

"Raphael Sandbar, so that's the name of the man I saw poking his head out of one of the support staff quarters earlier correct?" The Lieutenant asked the PT corgi in his lap, who looked up at him and gave a short cheery bark and a few wags of its tail. William rubbed the side of the dog's face with his free hand.

"I can clearly see from y'all that he's a good man here. I'll make sure he's not condemned by the report I'm going to write about this. I am not letting this shit stand, not at fucking all." Corgi said to the PT boat in a voice so low and filled with icy fury that the dog couldn't help but have a few fearful shivers go up its body, even though the PT boat wasn't even _remotely_ the object of William's anger.

[=]

As dawn broke over New Orleans, Lieutenant Corgi got with Pfc Sandbar and the two of them went about doing the work that needed to be done. Topping off the Day Rotation's fuel reserves,

Setting out the Food for the returning night rotation in advance before they went helping the PT boats of the day rotation with their Rigging, After that it was finally time for them to meet the Returning night Rotation out on the docks.

William learned that Pfc Sandbar _had_ read the entire Document he had left behind for the LTJG that was his replacement here in New Orleans. And Corgi could see that Sandbar had rather _meticulously_ memorized the finer points of the Document. However though the Marine never had a chance to complete the quasi-ritual that was the rotation of the patrol.

For when the eight corgis of New Orleans' Night Patrol PT Boat Rotation saw Lieutenant Corgi standing on the docks with Pfc Sandbar. The dogs accelerated to flank speed and practically jumped the last ten feet of way to the floating dock.

Which their landing upon almost tossed both Corgi and Sandbar off the floating dock and into the water. _Almost_ since Corgi recovered his Balance first and grabbed the back of Sandbar's MCCUU jacket to keep the Marine from falling face first into the water.

It was here where Sandbar witnessed the affection the PT Corgis held for the Navy Lieutenant and it wasn't till after they had given the Lieutenant an affectionate welcome that the PT Corgis of the night rotation sprinted off to the Barracks. The two of them then saw the Day rotation off before they began making their way back to the PT Barracks.

"W-wow Sir, I never realized that the PT Boats loved ya so much." Sandbar spoke with a sense of awe.

"Course they do Pfc Sandbar, I was the one that commanded all the PT Corgis here up until two months ago when me, my Team, and all but twelve of the PT Boats station in New Orleans got transferred over to Port Fourchon. I can see that a couple more of em got summoned since I last here." Corgi spoke with a degree of pride in his voice as they entered the PT Barracks.

Though once they were inside, Lieutenant Corgi turned and gave Sandbar a hard look, though it wasn't direct _at_ Sandbar the Marine flinched regardless at the intensity of the look in the Lieutenant's Hazel Green eyes. "Private, Your Commanding Officer here, the incompetent dumbass who thought grabbing and moving an angry fucking blimpcat was a good idea. I will not mince words with you. I am going to report everything incompetent and neglectful thing this dumb Son of a Bitch has done. And I will see to it that he answers for his treatment of you, and the PT Corgis. I don't _how_ this shit went on for this long without anyone noticing let alone doing something about it but I'm going to do something about it now. Do I make myself clear Private First Class Sandbar?"

Sandbar wouldn't have been lying if he admitted that he was terrified of the Lieutenant's statement, not due to the words themselves but the manner that they were delivered. Sandbar knew, like how every marine ought to, that the volume of the person chewing someone out was inversely proportional the rank they held. Even so, Sandbar was caught off guard by how quiet and deathly calm the Lieutenant had spoken to him in stark contrast to nigh-apocalyptic anger his eyes had.

It was like the like Corgi was a senior Flag Officer instead of being a mere Lieutenant. Was _this_ what his friends on base meant when they had told him about The 'Admiral' of the PT boats? If so, he finally understood why his fellow Marines didn't dare attempt to get on Corgi's bad side when he was still stationed here. And then the Lieutenant sighed and placed a hand on Sandbar's shoulder.

"Listen, As much as I hate leaving you with managing the PT Corgis after all the crap the LTJG has put ya through, I need to sit down in the Officer and make a report about this mess so that it can get properly unfucked yesterday." William said in an earnest and somewhat apologetic manner to Sandbar.

"That's Fine Sir-"

"You can drop the Sir stuff for now Sandbar; just call me William or my middle name, Wallace for now alright? Because Right now, we're both just two men trying to do the right thing for these PT Boats."

"Yes Si- yes Wallace." Sandbar replied, catching himself from saying 'Sir' when the Lieutenant had told him to drop it for the time being. He was confused at the nearly 180 Wallace's personality had done, it took Sandbar a few moments to realize it, but the sudden change was because the Lieutenant was now directly speaking to him, instead of the situation at hand.

"Hey Wallace?"

"Yes Sandbar?"

"Are you going to chew out the LTJG when you're done writing your reports?" The Marine asked the Lieutenant, a hopeful glen in his eyes. There was silence for a moment, before the Lieutenant gave the Marine a down right evil smile.

"After I get the report from the night patrol compiled and the report on the LTJG's negligence and overall incompetence written up and sent up the chain. I will Sandbar, trust me _I will._ "

[=]

It wasn't until noon time that Lieutenant Corgi was able to finish writing up both the Night Rotation's report and his report on the LTJG's misconduct as the handler of New Orleans' PT boats. The later report taking far longer to write than the former but when he was done, William emailed both reports to the Admiral's Secretary with the later report flagged as being high priority.

Having a fair idea on how the Admiral would take the later report once it reached his desk, Corgi got up and out of the Office and into the rest of the PT Barracks. He noticed that the eight PT Corgis of the night patrol were fast asleep in a cuddle puddle.

Since he didn't see Pfc Sandbar anywhere, he assumed the marine headed off to the mess hall. Hearing a growl from his stomach, William realized he skipped out on breakfast entirely. He grabbed a dry-erase board and marker and wrote out a note for the PT Boats in case they woke up from their sleep before he or Sandbar returned.

While William was in a bit of rush to get something to eat before he'd go have a few words with the LTJG laid up in the infirmary, he didn't move faster than a moderately fast walk. He saw that there was some changes to the base, a few new buildings, but overall it wasn't drastically different to what he last remembered when was stationed here until two months ago.

He followed a group of Ensigns through the Mess Hall doors, grabbed a tray and got in line. Nobody seemed to have noticed him at first and he was fine with that, at least until he passed a group of Marine Lieutenants sitting at a table. One of whom got a good look at him, and promptly dropped the lasagna laden folk he was holding.

"Holy Hanna, that's Corgi, I knew someone had to fill in for the unfortunate bastard that got mauled by a blimpcat last night but I didn't think they'd bring the PT Boat Whisperer himself here." The marine said to his fellows while trying to not attract William's attention. This didn't work out too well since the Lieutenant shot a look over his shoulder at the marines before he got himself a plate of Lasagna and moved down the line.

After filling his tray with a sizable meal of Lasagna, a slice of Pizza, some garlic bread, and a small cup of gumbo. William looked around the room for a place to sit, his eyes wondered until he saw Pfc Sandbar sitting at a mostly empty table that had another marine, a Staff Sergeant from the looks of it, and an Ensign as the only other occupants.

Both they and Sandbar were surprised when William sat down at the table with them. "As you were gentlemen, don't mind me." William said to put the three of em at easy before he started to eat.

"So, Lieutenant, what's it like managing so many PT Boats?" The rather nervous sounding Ensign asked William as he was taking a bite out of his slice of pizza after finishing the last of the lasagna and gumbo. The Lieutenant chewed and swallowed the bite before answering the Ensign.

"Lots of work, especially since I don't have enough people in my Support Staff to allow members of it any significant time off even if I wanted to give it to them." William said in a blunt matter of fact manner. This made the ensign balk.

"But Sir isn't there like a bunch of Marines and Navy enlisted where you're normally stationed that you could have transferred to your unit to bolster your staff?" The Ensign said, for a moment unaware of the offense to the Lieutenant he had just done, well that was until William rounded on the junior officer with a hard steely gaze.

"Let me make one thing clear Ensign." Corgi's voice was even and matter of fact in tone, even perhaps friendly. However it brokered **_no_** argument.

"PT Corgis are far more of a challenge to handle than you and 92% of people realize. They are often more energetic than Destroyer Shipgirls are even if they don't quite have the same stamina. And they can cause a whole lotta chaos in short order if you don't teach them very clear rules or keep on top their activities like a hawk. Even then they still sometimes get themselves into trouble because of their dog instincts." The Lieutenant said in a somewhat tired tone.

The Ensign tried to speak but the Lieutenant silenced him with a glare before continuing. "Unlike Shipgirls who, who while being also ships, are also human. So they think and conduct themselves like people do most of the time. The PT boats way of thinking on the other hand takes more after the breed of dogs that their physical bodies take after. If Normal Corgis are considered to very independent and strong-willed, then the PT Corgis are even more so, and they are _very_ intelligent. They understand every word you're saying, even if they can't speak like you and I."

"This means you need to be able to train them effectively to follow your rules. If you don't, they will form their own set of rules and then they'll try to train _you_ to follow them. This also means you shouldn't speak ill of them in their presence. They may also become more stubborn than a damn Battleship if you don't give them the attention they need. And unlike normal Corgis, the PT Corgis are _very_ capable of biting straight through an eighth of an inch of armor plate if they feel like they are threatened by someone they haven't yet come to know and trust, if they aren't an 0-5 or higher that is." William took a breath before he delivered the finisher.

"With all of this in mind, I need people who are either explicitly trained to handle and work with Military Dogs, or whom had a background of handling or training dogs before they came into the Military. That is the requirements needed to get into the unit I run, and there is exactly one way to get an exception to those requirements to get in." Corgi said a rather flat voice before waiting for the Ensign to digest the information and ask the question he was expecting the junior officer to ask him.

"W-what is that exception S-sir?" the Ensign stammered out. "Well that's rather simple Ensign, if the PT Corgis trust you right off the bat. If they trust you, I trust you, but it does also seem like the reverse is true as well." William said with a far more friendly voice than he using beforehand.

William finished demolishing the rest of the food on his tray in short order before he spoke again. "Gentlemen, I have a LTJG to go chew out for being almost completely incompetent with handling the PT Corgis and dumping it nearly all the responsibilities of managing them onto Pfc Sandbar." He said as he picked up his tray and went to put it away.

[=]

"Holy shit, the LTJG is getting torn apart in there." Pfc Sandbar said quietly as he, the Staff Sergeant and the Ensign he shared a table with, heard what was going on in the other room. Which while muffled, it was still loud enough through the closed door for the others to just be a foot from it to hear what was being said by Lieutenant Corgi.

 **"-JUST WHAT IN THE SAM HELL WERE YOU THINKING PICKING UP A K-TYPE BLIMPCAT? YOU ARE NOT AN AIRSHIP AND THAT CAT SURE AS HELL DIDN'T TRUST YOU!-"**

"Now, I get why some of the other guys that'd been here for a while called The Lieutenant 'Captain Barker'" The Staff Sergeant quietly whispered to the other two as they listened in.

 **"-F I HAVE TO AIR MAIL YOUR ASS BACK TO THE NAVAL ACADEMY. SO HELP ME SECNAV I'LL SHIP YOU THERE WITH SAME DAY EXPRESS!"**

"You'd think he was a marine with the mercilessness with which he's chewing Lieutenant Junior Grade Jackson with." The Ensign said, wide eyed but utterly transfixed with what he was listening to.

"Hey! What are you three doing by that door?" came the commanding tone of a voice from further down the hall. The three looked and realized it was another Navy Lieutenant. On reflex they came to attention before the Staff Sergeant answered the Lieutenant's question. "Sir, we were listening to Lieutenant Corgi chew out LTJG Jackson, Sir!"

At the mentioning of Corgi's name, the Lieutenant, who was now close enough for the three to see Gallow on the name tape, had a look of shock and disbelief on his face. "Wait, did you say Corgi? Like William 'Mad Dog' Corgi? Make some room, I gotta hear _this._ " Lieutenant Gallow said as he joined the three in listening to what was going on in the other room.

 **"I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU LTJG JACKSON, BUT I SURE AS FUCK DON'T WANT MY GODDAMN NAME IMMORTALIZED IN HISTORY AS BEING THE FIRST PERSON TO HAVE DIED BY AN ANGRY FLOATING CAT! WHEN AD-"**

"Oohh yeah, that's 'Mad Dog' Corgi alright. I knew Jackson got mauled by a blimpcat for grabbing it and attempting to remove it from the presence of one of the PT Boats. But if Corgi is yelling at him like _this_? He _must've_ found something the LTJG was hiding that pushed his buttons." Lieutenant Gallow said with a slight grimace at hearing the verbal carnage that was going on in the other room.

"Is Lieutenant Corgi always like this Sir?" Pfc Sandbar asked Lieutenant Gallow. Who shook his head side to side. "No son, he _isn't_ always like this. He's best known for being pretty damn hard to get angry actually. Only the completely idiotic or the negligently incompetent can get him this angry. Judging by the way he's yelling at Jackson; seems like Jackson was a bit of both."

"Then why did yo-" Sandbar started to say before Gallow cut him off with a look. "I and a Few others call him 'Mad Dog' for what he did during Blood week when his ship got attacked." Gallow said before he gave a sigh, seeing the question the marine was about to ask him, Gallow beat him to it.

"Listen, I know the story of what happened then, but it isn't mine to tell. You want to know it? You have to ask him about it yourself Private." Lieutenant Gallow said in a voice that had no room for Argument. Pfc Sandbar only gave a hasty nod in reply.

It was then that it dawned on the four men that the yelling had stopped and footsteps were approaching the door. Pfc Sandbar, the Staff Sergeant and the Ensign all backed away from the Door and attempted rather badly at that, to not look like they were eavesdropping in on Corgi's Chew out of the LTJG. Lieutenant Gallow on the other hand only moved to the side of the door so he wouldn't block it.

As Corgi opened the Door and walked out of the room, he noticed and recognized Gallow. "Dominic my old friend! It's good to see you again." William said in a happy tone as he shook the others hand. "Same here William. How has Port Fourchon treated you?" The other Lieutenant asked his friend.

"Ah you know Dominic, the usual, whole lotta PT Corgis, not enough support staff to easily manage em. Everyone including me are running double shifts, and generally helping one another to the best of our abilities." William said in a devil-may-care manner. "Ah yeah I figured as much, but ya glad that you don't have to worry about Destroyers spoiling the dogs rotten?"

"Damn right I do Dominic, their hearts are in the right place but spoiled PT boats just makes prone to misbehaving and stealing all the Peanut butter." Corgi said with a small laugh. "Well Dominic, it's been great but I gotta cut it short for right now. I've gotta make preparations for the returning Day Patrol." William said to the other before he went to walk away.

It was then that he noticed the other three. "As you were gentlemen." He said in a voice that didn't betray anything, but the smile on his face. A 'smug dog' kind of smile that said that he knew that the three of them heard him chew out the LTJG. As Lieutenant Corgi walked past the group of three, he paused and turned his head towards Sandbar.

"Pfc Sandbar, I'll go make sure things are ready for the changing of the Patrol Rotation in a few hours. Your job is going to be to sortie the Night rotation. Once you're back from that with the returned day rotation, your orders will be to then take the rest of the evening off. After everything, you've earned at least that much and much more. Do I make myself clear private?" William spoke in a voice that while friendly, made it exceptionally clear that the only answer he'd accept from Sandbar was a 'yes sir'.

"Sir, Yes Sir." was Pfc Sandbar's immediate response. "Excellent, carry on as you were." William said before walking off.

[=]

It had been a rather long day, but now with the day rotation back and fed and the night rotation sortied by Sandbar. The post patrol reports from the day rotation were compiled into an overall daily report and send up the chain of command, along with a few requests to supply for items like rawhide bones, tennis balls and other dog toys for the PT boats. The two men sat in adjacent couches in the main room of the PT Boat Barracks.

"Lieutenant, do you want to get something at the mess hall sir? Its 20:11 and tonight's dinner is fish Tacos." Pfc Sandbar asked Corgi, while rubbing the head of one of the PT Boats that lay across his lap. Corgi just shook his head, his eyes holding an exhausted look to them.

"I'll pass Sandbar, but you go ahead and get yourself some chow, okay?" William said as the building exhaustion from the day was now finally catching up to him. Sandbar nodded and went to get up; the PT Corgi in the Pfc's lap jumped off and walked over to the couch William was on.

The marine looked back at the Lieutenant when he got to the door of the Barracks; all the dogs were gathered around William, who noticed Sandbar's look and waved him on. Once the marine had left the building, William let a tired sigh pass his lips as he looked up at the ceiling of the building.

"Everyone worrying about me like this makes me feel old. I'm not that old, 35 isn't _that_ old now. Yet I'm making people worry about me like I'm at least twice that age and doing the work I do. Does that make me a shitty leader?" William said to the eight PT boats that were gathered around him. The dogs looked him as he brought his gaze down to them and they gave him either side-to-side shakes of their heads or two short barks. The responses made a smile crack across the Lieutenant's tired features.

"Thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence boys." Corgi said to the PT boats. Who wagged their tails and smiled at the praise. "And I'll be damn sure, to personally vet whoever Admiral Raleigh sends to take over this post. So something like this mess with the LTJG...doesn't happen again." The comment made the PT boats whine a bit.

"You stop that, you know I can't stay here boys, I've got a lot more PT boats back in Port Fourchon who're waiting for me to return. Clayton is a good man, but he can only cover for my job for so long. We might be getting a pair of ensigns added to the unit in two days. But you he can't show em the ropes, cover his duties _and_ my duties all at once." William said before another yawn escaped his lips, his eyelids felt heavy so he just closed them for a bit.

"Unless...Raleigh decided to bring Dog Squad and all those PT boat Squadrons back to New Orleans... but I don't think he'll do something like...that." William mumbled out as he nodded off into a deep sleep. The PT boats looked at the sleeping Lieutenant, and they knew that he'd have one badly sore neck if he was allowed to remain sleeping like that.

With a series of nudges and pushes with their noses as well as light pulling and tugging on the Lieutenant's NWU's with their mouths; being careful to not leave more than a slobber mark on the uniform. The eight PT Corgis of New Orleans' daytime patrol rotation carefully moved Lieutenant William Corgi into a more comfortable position lying down on the couch. One of the dogs had managed to nudge one of the couch pillows under the LT's head.

With their beloved commander now comfortably position on the rather comfortable couch and already sleeping, the PT Corgis gathered around him in a cuddle puddle. Leaving a _very_ memorable sight for Private First Class Raphael Sandbar to see when he returned to the PT boat Barracks after dinner. As for William, his dreams were quiet and pleasant for the remainder of the night.

[=]


	56. Doggos! Part 3

Omake: An Officer and his Dogs part 3. [=]  
William awoke gently, the first few things he noticed right away was that there were roughly eight warm things around him. He realized he was on one of the couches that were in the main room of the PT Barracks. He could feel the cold blast of the AC on his face, yet he knew that he was sweating, and had been for some time now. In the Diffuse lighting of the room, he looked around and saw what the cause for the contradiction in temperature was. The eight PT Corgis of the daytime patrol were gathered around him on the couch in a cuddle puddle and he was the center of it.

In the diffuse darkness, a smile cracked across the Lieutenant's face. Though as he also became aware of damp he was from sweating he started to stir. Though he did give the nearest dog some rubs on the side of their face. "Thank you, for watching over me last night; but can Y'all let me up now? I need to shower something fierce." William said with a small chuckle.

A small flurry noises followed as the PT Boats obeyed the Lieutenant's request, from the soft almost unnoticeable jingles of dog tags lightly tapping against the metal loops that helped secure their collars, to the muted click-clack of the Corgis nails tapping against the tile of the Barracks floor as they jumped down from the couch, and much more muted pitta-pat of the dogs' footfalls as they moved across the floor to give the Lieutenant room to stand up and stretch.

When Lieutenant Corgi finished his quick little stretch, he looked at the glow dial of his wristwatch to see what time it currently was; it was 0340, just a little over half an hour before he was supposed to wake up. 'Well, can't complain about waking early this time.' he thought to himself as he looked around the main room with his dark-adjusted eyes.

It took a moment, but he noticed something was off with one of the chairs at the table where the support staff would have meetings, eat breakfast, every now and again play poker at. A sixth sense of sorts went off at the back of William's mind. Never being one to ignore such a feeling, he fished his phone out of his pocket and found the flashlight app.

Though it did ruin his night vision, the bright LED light did confirm his suspicion that one of the chairs was left slightly crooked from what it normally was. A bit of further inspection of the legs showed some light teeth marks that weren't there before. He also noticed a small scuff mark leading to the Barracks door, and curious teeth-mark like dents and scratches on the doorknob.

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow at this, it wasn't particularly often that the PT Corgis went and sneaked out of the building. He reminded himself to keep a keen eye for any clues as to what one of the dogs sneaked out for, and then determine whether or not if he needed to brace himself towards having an email waiting for him in his inbox sometime later today.

Now though he shuddered as the AC, a frosty 65 degrees for the comfort of the PT boats, was able to direct its chilly hold on his damp uniform and body. "Right, I need a shower," Corgi said to himself as he suppressed another shiver. Seeing that his small suitcase was still off to the side of the door; where he had left it when he had arrived here yesterday. The Lieutenant picked it up and carried it over to one of the spare rooms. He figured it'd be another day or so before LTJG Jackson's personal effects were removed from the CO's quarters and thus freed up the room for whomever it would be that'd come and take his place.

So instead of using the CO's quarters and its standalone bathroom to wash up, William entered the empty XO's quarters, which when he was originally stationed in New Orleans, used to be Clayton's room. The fact that there was a fairly thick layer of dust on the top of the empty dresser meant that no one had gone into the room since Clayton and the rest of William's support staff was transferred over to Port Fourchon some two months ago. For the time being, the Lieutenant would make this room his quarters.

Setting his suitcase on the dresser, William stripped and headed for the quarter's shower. He liked showering with the water just a few degrees below its hottest setting. It helped eased the tension that built up in his muscles from the stress his job had, or after he had spent more than a good part of the day running around with the dogs.

Fresh from his shower William quietly reveled in the softness of the towel he dried off with. Though as he dried off his back his eye twitched just slightly as the sensation of the towel dulled and then abruptly ceased as he reached the very bottom of his back. At least the transition area nowadays when he dried off his was just merely uncomfortable to touch, instead of it being searing painful as it had been when he had been released from the hospital a little over two and half years ago.

Giving a small shake of his head to push aside the memories of the recovery period he went through before he was allowed to be on the front lines again, William wrapped the towel around his waist and exited the bathroom of his quarters to get dressed for the day. It didn't take him very long to get most mostly dressed, though before he put his T-shirt on over his head, he looked at his image in the mirror. In particularly at the two marks on his left side, one was roughly the size a silver dollar and stretched across two ribs. The other mark though, it began a few inches above the bottom of his ribs and ended towards the middle of them.

Allowing his shirt to slide down to his wrists, William touched the second, angrier mark on his side with the fingers of his right hand, lightly tracing the slightly curved path the trench of the larger scar with his fingertips. "I still don't know how the hell I lived through that day..." He quietly spoke to no one but himself.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, but at that moment he could still see it. The two twisted pieces of steel sticking out of his side, the flak vest underneath the life jacket he had been wearing being the only thing that stopped those twisted pieces of metal from killing him outright. The sensation of finding it nearly impossible to draw a breath, and nigh blinding pain when he did manage to force in a full breath. This and much more swirled through the forefront of his mind for that brief moment.

Then he opened his eyes again, and the moment passed, the memories that came with that moment were back where they belonged, as far away from the front of his mind as he could push them. Taking a deep breath, and being thankful for being able to do the action without pain, William threw his T-shirt on and then finished getting dressed. His watch showed that it was 0415.

As Lieutenant Corgi opened the door to exit his quarters, he met a rather nervous looking Pfc Sandbar on the other side of the door. "Uh sir, I have some bad news to give." Sandbar said to his superior, bracing for what was to come.

"What is it Sandbar? It better be something important." Corgi asked the marine, he was prepared to go through the routine he went through when Petty Officer Third Class Simon Lake had joined his team.

"The Barracks pantry is all out of Coffee Sir." Sandbar said with a dreadful tone.

Corgi blinked a couple times in confusion. "Are we really out of Coffee Sandbar?" He asked him, in a way that sounded like he couldn't believe what he had just heard.

"I'm afraid so sir. I checked everywhere." The marine answered honestly.

 _'Oh_ ** _Hell_** _no.'_ Was Corgi's only thought at the situation. His surprised expression morphed into a scowl which made Raphael flinch ever so slightly. "Well, guess we'll have to head over to the base mess hall to get coffee and a bite to eat on the go. We've got time, and I sure the dogs will behave themselves until we're back." William said with a hint of resignation.

"Are you certain that's a wise idea, Sir?" Raphael said with a palpable measure of unease. William couldn't blame him for that unease, but he gave the marine a curt nod.

"Yes Sandbar, but that's only because I know the dogs won't do any funny business since I'm the acting CO here, right?" The Lieutenant said to Sandbar, though the last word was accompanied by his gaze shifting down to the PT Corgi that had crept up to the two to listen in.

William was amused when the dog straightened up like a precision milled ramrod. Head up, eyes forward, ears pointed straight ahead and its short tail stood at exactly 55 degrees, the dog raised its front paw as high as it could without disturbing the rest of its stance. It was what the Lieutenant long ago realized was the PT boat version of a salute since the dogs didn't have the anatomy to give a proper Navy Salute.

"See Raphael, they won't misbehave, but we better hurry, because they will try to sortie themselves if we're late. And take it from me, the mess that gets generated from that is a nightmare and a half to clean up." The Lieutenant said with a grave voice as the marine stepped aside to allow him through, before following hot on his heels. There was Coffee to be had, and they didn't have time to take the scenic route, though they didn't have to run yet either. [=]  
Raphael Sandbar was many things, tall however wasn't one of them being all of 5'6" in height. He found himself almost breaking out into a jog to keep up the Lieutenant's brisk walk, then again though, the Lieutenant towered over him at an impressive 6'2". Lieutenant Corgi just simply had a much longer stride than he did. Though Sandbar couldn't help but notice that Corgi seemed to be thinner than he should be given how loose his NWU jacket seemed to hang around his neck. As if though the Lt burned off far more than he took in more often than not.

William for his part, walked across the base with Raphael at a brisk clip in the predawn hours as he mulled over what it could have been that one of PT Corgis sneaked out for last night. His legs moved on autopilot as his mind thought of and almost as quickly discarded different ideas at what it could have been. He needed to figure it out sooner rather than later, just in case if it was something that was going cause him headaches later.

It was when they were passing one of the buildings where the K-blimps liked to laze about that Corgi heard the salty, aggravated gravelly voice of an MCPO, Corgi knew it had to be an MCPO, few people had such equal measures of salt, gravel, and at times barely restrained anger for the crap they're dealing with in their voices as MCPO's did. "For _**fucks**_ sake where did this fucking cat get a fish this goddamn big anyways and why do they always leave these fucking things around like their some kind of goddamn present?!" The voice more or less roared out in frustration from the roof of the building.

Hearing the calm peace of the slowly waking naval base be shattered by the old sailor's fury made Lieutenant Corgi raise an eyebrow, he knew K-blimps behavior, if only because they got into enough scuffles with the PT Boats that he _had_ to spend some of his precious time observing the damn floating cats to figure out when they were likely to start shit with his dogs.

And from those long-ago observations, William knew that the cats were rather lazy creatures, they would hunt, as all cats do. But they usually went for more easy pickings, or just floated down and stole some fisherman's catch from time to time. He and Sandbar had made it a few dozen yards past the building that had a fuming MCPO on its roof when he spotted something, a fish head, a _big_ fish head that was partially eaten and laying on the pavement.

Despite its state, William could gauge that the fish had to have been 25 pounds at least, something that was a fair bit more troublesome than what a K-blimp would be willing to put up with for a fishy snack. William briefly regarded the fish head and then moved on towards the mess hall, which was now coming into sight. He had a _very_ good idea now though what happened last night. But the reasons behind it, he couldn't discern the why though. And that worried him more than he was willing to admit.

Regardless though, He was going to have words with the PT Corgis after he gets some coffee and a quick bite to eat on the go.

While there were a few early risers in the mess hall, it was mostly empty. William did spot a pair of ship girls sitting at one table, destroyers from the looks of it, their cruiser minder must've been somewhere in line still. However William didn't dwell on the fact, rather he moved with an appreciable amount grace despite not having a drop of caffeine in his system.

Though because he had no caffeine in him currently and he was in deep, brooding thought about what one of his PT Boats could have been doing with a K-blimp that ended with the PT corgi giving one of the floating cats a fish. Lieutenant William Wallace Corgi had a most terrifying expression on his face, one that brokered no argument and demanded answers to questions even if the Lt didn't ask any.

But William wasn't thinking about any of that, rather he was thinking of gulping down as much of the life-giving black elixir as possible. While he might have been able to worry about what it was that one of his dogs were doing at night without Coffee, he knew he'd barely able to do much of anything else without it. Occasionally he dunked a donut he had grabbed from the line into the coffee before wolfing it down so he'd be able to say he ate something this morning.

He realized that he had utterly drained his coffee mug by the time he got to end of the line. Taking a moment to wolf down some sausage links and finish off the last donut he had picked up before he took care of his tray and doubled back for more coffee.

The fact that Corgi didn't sit down at all for the five and a half minutes he was in the mess hall before he left it with a refiled coffee mug in one hand and a bagel in the other may have been very strange to some people. Others though would have rationalized it as being par the course for someone who had perhaps too much work and not enough help to get it all done. Most however might have been silently thankful that the heavy and perhaps intimidating aura that was hanging around the LT was gone now.

Raphael Sandbar was just plain confused as he got out of the mess line with coffee and a breakfast burrito. He was right behind the Lt and yet the man somehow blurred on ahead and out of mess hall before the marine had finished going through the line. "How the hell does he move that fast without running?" Raphael said quietly to himself before someone spoke up behind him.

"That's because William has spent a _long_ time with the PT Corgis. Kinda have to be fast to keep up with those dogs. _Especially_ if you think they're up to mischief of some sort." Spoke the familiar voice of Lieutenant Gallow. Sandbar did not jump forward slightly with a squeak of surprise. He just merely stepped forward involuntarily and turned around on the heel of his combat boots.

"Save the formality marine, you don't need it right this moment," Gallow spoke preemptively to Sandbar as the latter downed a quarter of his coffee in one go to wash down the hearty bite he took out of his burrito.

"Yes, sir." Sandbar said more on reflex than conscious thought after he swallowed the bite. "Is he always like this?" Sandbar asked Gallow as he took another bite.

"Not particularly. Listen, you might wanna hurry along back to him Marine, something tells me he's gonna need your help." Gallow said as he sat down at a table and took a lazy bite out of an egg and bacon sandwich.

Sandbar gave Gallow a nod as he finished off his coffee and burrito before put up the tray and mug and then hurry out the door. [=]  
When Lieutenant Corgi entered the PT Boat Barracks, the dogs quickly gathered round, but the glare on the Lieutenant's face didn't let up. "Alright, which one of you snuck out last night and why?" He asked them in a manner that wasn't too dissimilar to a father asking his kids why they came home late.

Instantly all the Corgis started to look around, occasionally they'd meet William's hard inquisitively stare before looking away, all except one. It didn't take William long to notice that one dog didn't even look him in the eye all at. _'So they're the one'_ he thought to himself before he picked the PT boat up.

The corgi felt like it was at least ten kilos heavier than its appearance suggested but the Lieutenant barely noticed the weight. "Alright, what did you do?" He asked softly, but with steel hiding behind the soft tone of his words. The dog looked at him for a brief moment, before a fairy crawled out from its collar and told him something with a series of "Heys"

The Lieutenant's face fell a bit and then twisted in confusion and deep concern. "What? Payment for Services rendered? What services? And why did you go to a blimp cat? ... What do you _**mean**_ I'm better off not knowing! What did you _do_!?" William said the last part in utter exasperation before he brought the dog a bit closer to his face after the Fairy didn't elaborate further.

"Whatever you did, it better not come back to blow up in my face later, got it? Because if I get in trouble for it, yer fluffy butt will belong to DesDiv17, and word from the scuttlebutt is that they've found some _'amazingly kawaii'_ costumes sold off base that they wanna put some of y'all in. Maybe I should see if that rumor is true or not." Lieutenant Corgi spoke in a level, matter of fact manner. It wasn't often that he had to talk to the dogs like this, but with everything he had observed since waking up and what the PT boat he was currently holding _did_ say to him. The few ideas of what it could have been that saw this Corgi sneaking out, catching and then _giving_ one of the K-blimps a big fish from the lake last night didn't bode well.

From the frantic _"Heys"_ coming from the fairy balanced on top of the Corgi's head and the small up and down shakes of the head, the Corgi itself gave him. William knew the dog understood him clearly. With that matter settled, he placed the corgi back down and gave it a quick head pat before he started moving to get the Dogs ready for the day.

Pfc Sandbar got walked in through the door just as William started taking out the bags of Dog food.

The rest of their morning would go rather smoothly. Where's elsewhere, a certain Gunnery Sergeant was finding himself in a rather unenviable position. [=]  
Gunnery Sergeant Jim Clayton was not having the best of mornings. Not that the dogs were giving him and the PT Corgi support staff of Port Fourchon more of a hassle than normal with getting ready for sortie and the changing of the patrol rotations. That went smoothly. No, it was something infinitely more annoying.

The Fairies of Port Fourchon's PT Corgi night patrol rotation was trolling him, _again._

Jim knew they existed, he knew they were around, but for the life of him despite his best attempts, he could never see the little fuckers. Not directly anyway.

Jim also knew that they knew he couldn't see them, or perhaps they simply didn't choose to reveal themselves to him. He honestly didn't know or frankly care about that.

Rather what he did care about was the fact that his Coffee Mug twice now had been moved to a slightly different part of the desk he was sitting at currently. Usually when he briefly looked away to reread part of the post-patrol reports that would be aggregated into an overall report of the night's patrol findings.

Jim didn't have the kind of ability William had to look at a post-patrol report once and be able to transcribe its contents into the overall report. He had to look back at the large postage stamp piece of paper a couple of times to make sure he didn't screw anything up.

Of course, the Fairies would take that moment to move something around on the desk. Whether it was his Coffee mug, a pen, a paperweight or some other small item; not that it was delaying his work, well except for the Coffee. But it only delayed things for as long as it took for him to grab the handle and take another generous sip of the life-giving liquid.

Clayton set the mug down and went to read the next report. Except he noticed that the paper clip holder had been moved closer than it had been before. Clayton sighed and moved it back to where it belonged before he picked up the little report and began transcribing its contents.

For being unable to see the little gremlins, Clayton was glad that he could read and understand the little reports they wrote and left on the desk. Even if it threatened to give him a migraine whenever he tried to figure out how that was possible.

He reached over for the Coffee mug and his hand closed around empty air instead of the mug's handle. He finished transcribing the sentence he was working up before his eyes shot up to where his hand was, and he noticed that the Coffee mug was a few centimeters to the right of it.

"All right ya little shits, I know ya still in here. If Today's the day I finally see one of ya, I'm gonna grab and shake ya like the Corgis do with a new squeaky toy!" Clayton spoke in what amounted to a low bark. He eyed the desk's contents suspiciously, _daring_ for any of the objects on it to move in front of his steely gaze.

When nothing did, he huffed once and got back to work. He went a solid five minutes before a commotion outside tore him away from his task with just one report left to transcribe. "Oh now, what's going on?" Clayton groaned.

"MOTHER FUCKER THEY GOT INTO MY PEANUT BUTTER STASH!" Roared Pfc Ellen before Jim heard a series of swears doppler past the door to the office. Clayton didn't know why, nor did he want to know why, but the woman loved her peanut butter sandwiches and she got rather peeved when there wasn't any Peanut Butter in the Barracks.

Though this was his first time learning that she kept a stash of the stuff somewhere in the Barracks building, from the way the sound of her swears changed pitch as she had passed the door, he guessed Lisa must've kept the stash in her room. Jim sighed and went on to finish transcribing the last patrol report before checking the compiled report one last time. When he saw that nothing was amiss, he sent it up the chain of command.

"William, please get back to us soon. The dogs just have way too much energy lately." Jim said with a sigh as he got up from the desk, the desk normally occupied by the Lt and walked out into the rest of the barracks. Jim would swear that the dogs seemed to be celebratory about something he couldn't even begin to guess at, given the energy which they ran around the main room.

Jim felt in his bones that today was gonna be a _long_ day. [=]  
Lieutenant William Corgi had finished compiling the night patrol's post-patrol report early and was now helping Private First Class Sandbar wash the PT Corgis just outside of the Barracks building. He had his NWU sleeves rolled so they wouldn't get soaked. Though this did end up showing a handful of small scars that dotted his arms, scars from his days before the Navy when he raised and trained hunting dogs.

William was very glad that the dogs weren't giving him any trouble with their washes, at least going as far as to not shake off before they got out of the tin tub. Thus he was at best; slightly damp from when the Corgis did shake off before Sandbar had the chance to close the towel around them completely.

William took comfort in the fact that the Corgi he was rinsing off now was the last one. Poor Sandbar had to have been soaked to his boots by now.

Though William didn't notice that a marine was coming closer to his location until they were about 25 yards away, it was only then that William noticed the marine, he rolled down the Sleeves of his NWU's, got up and approached the man. "Can I help you, Marine?"

"This is for you, sir." The marine responded before handing him an envelope. William blinked as he took it and opened it up as the other marine left. As he read what was written a small smile crossed his face just as Raphael came up behind him.

"What is that Sir?" Sandbar asked Corgi rather inquisitively.

"Just something from Admiral Raleigh, He wants to discuss with me about who's gonna replace LTJG Jackson at this posting. Don't worry Raphael; I'll make damn sure that whoever takes over here takes good care of you and the dogs. I'll _personally_ vet Jackson's replacement before I head back to Port Fourchon." William said to the other with a reassuring smile. He noticed that the dogs were acting in a manner that was usually reserved for when they were getting two thick strips of fresh cooked Bacon as a reward for a particularly well-done job.

He didn't think much of it as he went off towards the administration building; the Lieutenant was glad that the Admiral found someone to take over management of the PT Corgis in New Orleans. Though he would ask his superior if he could speak with whoever was going to replace LTJG Jackson before they officially took over the posting and he returned to his posting in Port Fourchon. He wanted to make certain that the mess with Jackson wasn't repeated again. [=]

Gunnery Sergeant Clayton had _just_ finished three and a half hours of washing the PT Corgis of the night patrol rotation with the help of his Marines and Petty Officer Third Class Lake; Sanderson was busy doing maintenance on the PT Boat's Rigging. Washing the PT Corgis was a task and a half itself, given the amount of built-up salt from sea spray that had to be washed from their double coat of fur alone.

When they got covered in mud or something sticky it was even more of a process to get them cleaned up again. Though how exactly did a full half of the dogs of the night patrol rotation end up with blotches of Peanut butter stuck to their fur baffled Clayton to no end.

He tried asking Ellen about what happened but her responses only baffled him further. Well, he couldn't complain too much, the dogs were due for their weekly wash in two days anyway, and the peanut butter debacle helped him get out of washing all the dogs on his own as the price for losing the keep away game two days ago at least.

Though he and everyone else helping him save for Lance Corporal Desmond were _drenched_ with the water the dogs shook off of themselves before they happily leaped into the awaiting dry towels Desmond held out.

Jim would readily admit watching the dogs get dried off was kind of adorable. They looked so happy to be clean and dry, even though he knew that chances are that they'll end up muddy or otherwise messy again sometime soon. Especially if they were going in for scheduled baths soon, much to his dismay.

"Hey Gunny, what with the transport trucks pulling up to the barracks, I don't remember seeing anything about us getting something like that." Sergeant Banks spoke with a confused tone, causing Jim to turn and see that a pair of heavy duty transports was coming their way. Clayton was confused, very confused at the sight because those trucks were normally the kind used to transport ship girls.

The Last time Gunnery Sergeant Clayton had checked, there wasn't any Ship Girls currently assigned to Port Fourchon, nor were any being assigned to it in the immediate future to best of his knowledge. So the Heavy Duty transports pulling up to the PT Boat Barracks confused the hell out of him.

That confusion grew, even more, when he saw people get out of the backs of the trucks, from the looks of their uniforms Clayton could see that these were _Army_ personnel. Eight of them total disembarked from the two trucks carrying with them a sizable suitcase and a large duffel bag each.

Clayton stood up as one of the Army personnel walked up to him. "Are you Gunnery Sergeant Jim Clayton?" The Army trooper asked him with strict professionalism.

"Yes I am, who are you and what's going on here soldier?" Clayton said in response to the man's question. He wanted answers and he wanted them yesterday.

"Sergeant First Class Stacker, we're here to manage the PT Boats stationed here." Stacker said to Clayton, and Clayton couldn't help but smile at hearing the news.

"Thank God, I never thought Lieutenant Corgi would able to get some of the Army's Dog handlers to help us out here." Clayton said with relief on his face. Those this relief was short lived as Jim saw Stacker's expression change.

"Gunny, that's not it, we're taking over operations here while you, the rest of Lieutenant Corgi's staff and six of the PT boat squadrons stationed here are transferred over to New Orleans effective immediately." Sergeant First Class Stacker said to Clayton in an almost apologetic manner.

"What?" The sheer flatness that Clayton said the word within his response to Stacker's statement was flatter than the flattest flattop. Jim honestly thought he misheard the other, he just couldn't believe what he had just heard. "Say that again SFC. Stacker, I think I didn't hear that clearly." Clayton spoke with complete disbelief.

Stacker for his part placed his duffel bag down and pulled a pair of envelopes out of his breast pocket before handing them over to Clayton to read. Clayton took the envelopes and noticed that one was unopened and was from the Navy; the other envelope was from the Army and was already opened.

Clayton opened the Navy Envelope and read the letter that was inside. His mouth hung open as the letter confirmed what the Army Sergeant had told him.

"Stacker, how long does my team have before we depart for New Orleans?" Clayton asked with a stony expression on his face.

"About an hour, hour and a half top Gunny." Was Stacker's swift response to Clayton's question, Jim couldn't help but bit his lip a bit as he mulled things over.

"None of this makes sense, _Army_ in charge of handling Navy Dogs on a Navy facility?" Clayton said with palpable exasperation at the absurdity of the situation he was now being confronted with.

"I know Gunny, Hell everything stopped making sense when those demons from the depths appeared, and any chance of normalcy coming back went right out the window when the world heard the first Dess," Stacker said with a completely straight face.

Clayton looked at Stacker for a moment, before he started laughing. Jim would give credit to the Army man for making him chuckle, even if the army Sergeant was completely correct about the statement. Jim still had to laugh a bit, it was the only way to keep sane in the madhouse that the world had become.

"Alright Stacker, I'll tell the others to pack their things and get ready to depart within the hour. However, before my team leaves, I need to know which PT Boat Squadrons are staying behind." Clayton said to the other as he led the Army personnel to the PT Boat Barracks.

"Just one squadron from the day rotation and one from the night rotation Gunnery Sergeant, that's all." Stacker replied crisply.

"Okay, Oh and before I forget, there is a 38-page booklet that Lieutenant Corgi wrote up detailing how to manage the PT Corgis. I _highly_ suggest you read it if you wanna avoid learning a lot of things about the PT boats the hard way, among other things." Jim said to the other as he opened the door to the Barracks. The nod the other gave him at least took off some of the tension Jim felt building up in his shoulders. Oh, he knew his outfit was in for interesting times ahead.

Though as he told everyone else of his unit what was going on, and then made the radio call to the deployed day patrol rotation about which ones would be returning to New Orleans and which ones would be returning to Port Fourchon, one thought remained at that back of his mind.

 _When is William going to be informed of this development?_ [=]  
Lieutenant William Corgi walked out of the Admiral's office with a fairly neutral expression on his face after his meeting with his overall superior was done. He kept up the professional appearance he had maintained all throughout the half-hour meeting until he was about two dozen paces away from the door to the Admiral's office and around the corner of the hallway.

It was only then that William allowed himself to falter, with an almost explosive sigh. The Lieutenant placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. His left eye twitched a fair bit and his hands were shaking to a degree.

"This _has_ to be some kind of punishment for all the personnel requests I sent in last eight months. It just has to be. It's either that or maybe this is some kind of test he's putting me through. There's just no way can I fully believe that I'm the best at my job that he knows, just no damn way, he's a flag officer. There's gotta be at least six other people that are as good as or better than me at managing PT boats." Corgi mumbled to himself as he mostly pulled himself together and continued on out of the administration building.

When William entered the PT Boat Barracks, the PT Corgis sensed something wasn't right with him and gathered around his legs like a small fluffy fleet of escorts. Moving in sync with his footsteps and only partially dispersing to allow him to collapse onto one of the couches face-first with a miserable groan.

"I'm doomed." Lieutenant Corgi groaned out with his face between the couch cushions, he was suddenly feeling far older than he actually was. Sandbar took a seat on the neighboring couch.

"Lieutenant is something wrong sir?" Sandbar asked Corgi, from the short time he had come to know the man; Raphael figured that him acting like this wasn't something that happened often, if ever, without good reason. The Lieutenant for his part lifted his face out of the cushions of the couch with a look in his eyes that could be likened to that of a dead fish.

"Yes, Raphael. Something's very wrong and it's about who's taking over LTJG Jackson's posting here." William spoke with an almost monotone voice that was tinted with faint despair.

"Who's taking over the LTJG's post sir?" Sandbar spoke quietly, nervousness now creeping into the Marine's voice.

"Me." Corgi said with a slight groan. This made Sandbar very _very_ confused. The PT Corgis, on the other hand, got very excited and started to run around the main room in what appeared to have been victory laps as fast as their stubby little legs could take them.

"Sir, I don't follow why that's a bad thing." Sandbar said, not sure how exactly the Lt. would take his statement. He watched Corgi sit up on the couch and face him. A look of dread and exasperation creased his face.

"Because that means my Staff is getting transferred here along with most of the PT Boats we were handling out in Port Fourchon. This after I finally got the Corgis we were managing in Port Fourchon to lose the last of the bad habits they had picked up here in New Orleans and now there's a fair chance they'll relearn those bad habits."

"Sir, I'm certain tha-" Sandbar started to say but stopped when the Lt. raised his index finger to stop him from finishing that statement.

"It's not just that Sandbar. There are far more K-type blimps here than there was at Port Fourchon. Far, far more, and now there's going to be far more PT Corgis here than there was for the last two months. Those blimpcats aren't gonna take too kindly to seeing so many dogs flood the base again after spending two months with at most 8 of them being present at any given time. How many more scuffles do you think are gonna happen between the two groups Marine?" William said with a large hint of resignation in his voice.

Sandbar thought of it for a moment and then his eyes went wide as the realization hit him like a train. The Lt saw this and nodded at the marine.

"Seems like ya realized it, a bunch of people is gonna end up being kept up by the racket they'll make if and _when_ they get into a scuffle. This means sooner or later, I'll have to answer a rather annoyed ship girl whose beauty rest has been interrupted by the Cats and dogs fighting, in addition to dealing with the paperwork that'll come from the inevitable noise complaints. More paperwork from reorganizing the PT Squadrons, getting the needed supply forms filled out and sent, redrawing the patrol routes for the PT boats to accommodate the changes being stationed in New Orleans brings to how far out they can go. And SECNAV knows what else may come! New Orleans might be tamer than other Ship girl bases in most respects. But that's just for everyone else!" The Lieutenant said with exasperation as he threw his hands up into the air.

"But for us PT Boat Handlers. It's the third most chaotic place to be stationed at! Only Everett and _anywhere_ in Florida are worse, with the Florida Key West station being the worst of them all! You wouldn't think that four PT Corgis could cause so much trouble, but I know a colleague who's manning the Key West station who has to deal with PT Boats who have a very hard time not herding all those protected chickens every day." He said before letting his arms fall to his sides and sitting back on the couch. The Lt. exhaled and seemed to sink into the couch a bit as the steam left him.

"And what makes Naval Station Everett so chaotic for the likes of us sir?" Sandbar asked, wonder what was so bad about that place for PT Boat Handlers like him and the Lt.

"All of those Destroyers stationed there Raphael. They spoil the small handful of PT boats stationed there completely rotten." Corgi said in a flat monotone before wiping his brow. He glanced at Sandbar and realized there was a question the marine wanted to ask but was hesitant to do. William figured what the young marine wanted to ask him and so he beat him to the question.

"To answer the question you probably have, you're being reassigned to my unit Sandbar." William said to the Pfc to assure his unspoken concerns. The Lieutenant gave a ghost of a smile when he saw the marine relax completely at the statement. Though William checked his watch and noticed the time. He remembered that the admiral had informed him that his team and the day patrol would arrive in trucks within the next few hours. The Lieutenant sighed and then stood up from the couch.

"Okay, enough mopping about, we need to prepare for what's coming Sandbar." William spoke with a sense of renewed vigor, even if his voice held a measure of resignation in it. "Ah, this may be kinda dumb to ask but, did anything happen while I was over at Administration?" He asked the marine.

"Not much sir, just a pair of enlisted coming in to remove LTJG Jackson's personal effects from his quarters." Was the swift response from Sandbar, William gave a nod at the other's response before he motioned for the young marine to come with him.

There was much to do before everyone else showed up and William didn't want to hear Clayton complain about him commandeering his room. Or worse, have Clayton take _his_ quarters instead. William knew his friend well enough to know that it was a thing Jim would totally do. [=]  
Gunnery Sergeant Jim Clayton was in Hell. The kind of hot and humid Hell that only could be produced by 18 excited PT Corgis in the back of a transport port truck with him, two other people and the bags and boxes of their personal effects that couldn't fit up front in the cab. He sincerely hoped that they were about to pull into New Orleans soon.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could take the rocking motion the truck had as the dogs moved from one side of the back to the other seemingly every other second to look out a window. Let alone the heat in the back. The AC, despite being on full blast, just simply couldn't handle all the heat generated from the energetic PT Corgis moving about inside.

Clayton was thankful that the AC was at least keeping the temperature in the back survivable, even it wasn't comfortable. He glanced at the other two people who were back here with him, Banks and Sanderson, to see how they were holding up to the car ride. Sgt. Banks looked like he was green around the gills but the plucky Sergeant gave him a thumbs up.

"Don't worry Gunny, I'm not gonna lose my lunch in here." Banks said to Clayton with all the bravado he could muster.

CW5 Sanderson, in contrast, looked far better than Banks did or how Clayton felt beyond being very sweaty. "How can you remain so unaffected by all this Sanderson?" Clayton asked the Navy Warrant Officer with a curious tone.

"Simple Gunny, I grew up in South Florida and rode airboats in the swamps all the time as a kid and teenager. This isn't anything compared to the jostling those things could give. Heat and Humidity is bout the same as summertime thou." Sanderson said, letting his accent slip a through.

"I wonder how Lisa, Simon, and Stanley are holding up in the other truck." Banks said as he glanced to doors that of the back of the truck, some distance beyond which was the second transport truck.

"If we're lucky, Lisa is just feeling dizzy and overheated." Clayton started before Sanderson spoke the other half of the statement he himself refused to say.

"If we're not, then Ellen's thrown up twice in there already." Sanderson said in a resigned tone like he was expecting that to be the case. Clayton shot Sanderson a rather harsh glare.

"Don't fuckin Jinx it Sanderson, we can _try_ to be hopeful for once you know!" Clayton all but hissed out between his teeth.

Whatever it was that Sanderson was about to say next was lost to history because one of the Corgis spotted something familiar out of one of the windows and started to bark happily. And then they all started happily barking inside the truck with great enthusiasm, much to the misery of their human handlers riding in the back with them.

Even though he and the other two with him covered their ears with their hands; the sound inside the back of the enclosed transport was just a couple yards short of deafening. But it did tell them one thing. They just pulled into New Orleans, which meant they had 15 minutes at most before they'd be out of the trucks.

Lieutenant Corgi had just finished with the last of the cleaning and other preparations when they heard the sound of the transport trucks pulling up to the Barracks. William knew it couldn't be anything else other than the transports, because he could faintly hear the barking from inside the Barracks building. He nodded to Sandbar and the two hurried out the door.

If William was asked, he'd say it was almost ominous how the sound from the transports came to a sudden stop as he and Raphael approached them. William motioned the marine to go open the back doors of one truck while he did the other. They both stood off to the side of a door on their respective trucks before they opened them.

It never ceased to amuse, amaze and utterly _baffle_ the Lieutenant, in that order, to watch the suspension of a Transport truck bonce up and down slightly every time one of the PT Corgis jumped out of the back and landed on the ground with a rather heavy thud.

Following the dogs out just a minute later was Clayton, Banks and Sanderson, each of them carrying a couple boxes, a duffel bag or both. William helped them down and noticed that they were drenched in sweat. "Rough ride Gunny?" He asked his friend Clayton knowing full well what the answer was.

"Yeah William, It was a rough ride. Almost fifteen minutes of non-stop barking as we pulled into the city made it all the worse." Jim groaned out as he stepped off the truck. William gave his friend a sympathetic pat on the back. He glanced over to the second truck and saw Pfc Sandbar helping Simon, Lisa, and Stanley out of the second truck.

William winced when he saw Pfc Ellen; poor girl looked like she was a quarter second from hurling. He was honestly surprised that she hadn't hurled during the trip.

"All right Gunny, What is there to unload from here and where's my personal effects?" The Lieutenant asked the Gunnery Sergeant.

"Everything else that wasn't in the back with us is up front in the Cab Lieutenant. I'll give ya a hand with it after I set this stuff inside." Clayton said as he, Banks and Sanderson hurried off. William turned back to see if Pfc Ellen had improved any bit, he was relieved to see that she looked less sick than before given that she was carrying her stuff to the PT Barracks building now.

The Lieutenant also noticed that Pfc Sandbar was heading up to the front of the truck to start unloading what was packed there. That was his cue to unload his personal effects from the front of his transport truck. Moving up to the front and opening the door, Corgi carefully removed a stack of two small boxes that were labeled 'Memories of friends departed' and 'for if the worse was to come' respectively.

"Do you want me to help you with that Sir?" The marine driver of the truck asked William.

"No Marine, You've probably had enough with moving the PT Boats; I ain't gonna trouble ya any further with my units' things." He said in a frank manner to the marine, who simply nodded once before he relaxed in his seat.

These two boxes were not the only personal effects William had, he had a large box that had everything else in his quarters and a medium box that had every personal item in his office to get as well, but these two small boxes were the items he had the highest priority to get inside and in his quarters. As he was coming in with those boxes he saw Clayton jog by, giving him a small nod as he passed.

This Signaled to Corgi that Clayton himself had packed up the items in these two boxes, thus keeping their contents unknown to others. Which made him breathe a sigh of relief, he didn't want anyone other than Clayton to know what laid within the latter, and he didn't like talking about what was in the former all too much because of what it reminded him of what he had lost, what he had gone through on that fourth day of that horrible week.

[=]

It didn't take long for the members of the U.S. Navy's 5th Patrol Torpedo Boat Support Unit, or more colloquially named 'Dog Squad' to finish unloading the trucks and settle back into their old base of operations, New Orleans.

The rest of the Afternoon and Evening went without much of a fuss beyond some initial confusion of which PT boats for the Night Patrol Rotation would sortie and the expected madness that'd come from feeding forty-four PT Corgis of the returning day rotation.

Though now with the sun having already set, Lieutenant William Wallace Corgi sat in his office and concluded transcribing the last of the patrol reports from the day patrol rotation before sending them up the chain of command.

The only real thing of note in today's patrol reports was that a dozen floating mines had been discovered and destroyed about 50 miles from the coastline of Pensacola, Florida.

But the fact that such things had been found at all troubled the Lieutenant greatly. While he wasn't Admiral Raleigh and thus he didn't possess the power of divination that Flag Officers all seemingly had. He knew that only two things could possibly deploy sea mines without being readily spotted were submarines or some kind of long-range PT boat.

While both possibilities disturbed the Lieutenant, a third perhaps equally disturbing thought came to him a minute after he sent the report to his superior. "It could be that these were deployed a while ago and they've just now drifted that close because of the currents." William said quietly to himself as he pulled up an image the Ocean Currents within the Gulf.

While the image of the Gulf Stream currents made the idea of the ocean currents having pushed the mines to the location there found in, it didn't ease any of the tension William felt. In fact, it only ratcheted it up slightly as he tried to think of where those mines could have been deployed originally to have ended up being carried by the currents to where they had been found off the coast of Pensacola.

However before he could think any further on it, he heard a knock on his door. "Enter." William said with a strong hint of tiredness in his voice. He saw his friend Jim enter the room. Holding a large and familiar kind of can in his hands, a coffee can. And there was a note on top of the can as well.

"I was about to head out with everyone else to get something from the mess hall when I saw this at the front of the door, damn near kicked the thing when I stepped out. I sent everyone else ahead to get chow, but I figured you needed to see this William. Because I have no goddamn idea what this is all about or what it means." The Gunnery Sergeant said before leaving the coffee can and note on the Lieutenant's desk and departing for the mess hall.

Lieutenant Corgi picked up the note and read it, whoever wrote it she, and he was certain it was a she, was apologizing for taking the Coffee that was for the PT Boat Barracks from supply. Raising an eyebrow from the way the note was written, William picked up the can and noticed it was lighter than it should have been.

Popping the can open, he saw the stay fresh seal had been removed and so had been a quarter of the Coffee inside. William looked at the note again with a strong suspicion of the kind of person who wrote it and this time he gave it a sniff, just to confirm something he had suspected. On the note, he smelled the sea... and a small hint of Diesel fumes on the paper among a few other things, which told him one thing, a submarine wrote this note, which meant now he knew why the requisitioned coffee had failed to show up on time. Thus leaving the PT boat barracks without coffee.

William found himself grinding his teeth in frustration as he closed and took the can back to the pantry cabinet that was next to the Barracks Coffee machine. "Damn Subthieves," William grumbled to himself as he went about the rest of his night. [=] 


	57. Doggos! Part 4

Omake: An Officer and his Dogs part 4

[=]

Lieutenant William Corgi awoke in a rather annoyed mood; his otherwise pleasant dream had been ruined by the sudden appearance of a certain orange-clad idol right before things had gotten very interesting.

"Damn traffic cone invading my dreams. Letting Lisa jam out to her albums last night was a bad call on my part." William muttered as he glanced at his clock and noticed the time was 0347. He had woken up early, _again._ The PT Corgi that was at the foot of his bed awoke to his muttering and tilted its head to one side before crawling up besides the Lt.

William sighed and scratched the top of the PT boat's head; the dog gave a sleepy yawn and leaned into his touch.

"I'm sorry girl, did I wake ya?" He said to the dog apologetically, who then simply pushed its snout against his hand twice to tell him no. And he knew the dog was telling him no, even if he couldn't exactly explain how.

"At least today the new transfers to the unit will arrive. Y'all don't give them too much trouble now, okay?" William said softly to the PT boat before pulling the blanket aside just enough to get out of bed. He shuffled over to his quarter's personal bathroom to shower and freshen up for the day, leaving a trail of removed clothes on his way to the shower.

After he was done washing, he'd take a final cold rinse to help keep him awake long enough to get some Coffee. And he did desperately need some Coffee after last night.

After drying off from his shower and getting dressed for the day, William took the time to put away his night sleepwear and used towel in their appropriate hampers before he made his bed to regulation standard. Once all that was taken care of, the Lieutenant exited his quarters and walked down the hall that led into the main room of the PT Barracks. With the PT Corgi that had watched over him during the night right behind him the entire time.

William reached the Coffee machine and set a new pot to brew. By the time Jim exited his quarters a few minutes later, the pot had finished brewing and William had already poured out two cups. The Lieutenant handed the Gunnery Sergeant one of the mugs and kept the other for himself.

William noticed that his friend had bags around his eyes and general grumpy air around him.

"Lemme guess, Traffic cone invaded your dreams too huh?" William said as he took a long sip of the black brew. From the grumbled reply Jim gave him before downing a quarter of the mug's contents in one go, William would take that as a solid yes.

"I had almost forgotten how catchy and _annoying_ that idol's songs could get." Jim said as he drank down another quarter of his coffee and felt the life return to him.

"Yeah her songs can be annoying as fuck at times but I have to admit when she doesn't do those damn high-pitched and high-intensity songs, her singing is really good." William countered before taking another sip of his coffee. The PT Boats were all waking up now, no doubt stirred to wakefulness by the smell of Coffee.

"Yeah you got a point there; I loved the Christmas album she released last year." Jim said as he finished off the rest of his coffee before handing William the now empty mug. William just gave a hum of agreement as he finished the last of his coffee before he washed the mugs as Jim went to wake everyone else up.

William sighed as he went to make a quick, simple breakfast of spam and eggs for everyone. They had quite a bit of work to do today; introducing the new guys to the unit would be a task and a half itself. However they had to take care of changing the patrol rotations first before anything else.

[=]

It was an about an hour and a half later, after the day patrol was topped off and sortied and the returning night rotation had returned and indulged in their required gluttony, that William was able to sit down at his desk and do some needed paperwork. It never seemed to end no matter how quickly he filled out the forms; it was something that annoyed him to no end.

He heard a knock on his door, a familiar three-note knock that only one person he knew made. "Enter." Corgi said as he read a form requesting some of the PT Corgis and one member of his Staff to part take in a Navy PR event scheduled for the New Year.

Gunnery Sergeant Clayton entered the room and handed Lieutenant Corgi a small stack of papers. "Some medical reports from Lisa, it seems like part of night squadron 2 got injured on their way back to base." Clayton spoke with a rather severe tone; Corgi was flabbergasted at what he heard. He hadn't even noticed anything wrong with the dogs of squadron 2 when they came in from patrol.

"How the hell did they get hurt?" William asked before he looked at the paper and did a double take at what he saw.

"Are you fucking kidding me? They collided with a pair of Ocean Sunfish? How the hell does that happen...wait since when do Sunfish horizontally bask this early in the day?" William asked as he glanced out the window, it was barely even nautical twilight yet, let alone sunrise. _'So why would two of those fish be on its side on the surface before the sun was even up?'_ He pondered to himself briefly before sighing again. He just couldn't catch a break could he? More things to ponder, more things to check out to see if there was a pattern to be found.

He had learned the hard way once, and just once, to never dismiss anything, no matter how random it seemed during times like this. However, right now he had a more pressing concern and that was the health of the injured dogs. The health of _his_ dogs. He knew that if he didn't try and stop em, they'd attempt to sortie before they had completely healed. A persistent trait carried over from the crews of their original lives as mere boats.

"Are they going to be completely healed before tonight's patrol or I'm gonna have to split squadrons 3 and 4 to cover the gap left by squadron 2's injured till they're fully healed?" William asked Jim, who simply nodded.

"Lisa said that she had their noses and hind legs in splints and they're a taking a soak in the repair docks right now and they'll be good as new by tonight. Hell she said that they'll probably be out before its lunch time." Jim said to William, who breathed a sigh of relief at the news. If Lisa said something like that, he knew that it was the truth.

Ellen really did work miracles with the dogs whenever they got injured. Her skills were a godsend in lieu of a proper repair ship and because of that, William was willing to put up with Lisa's more...eccentric habits. Which have caused him more than a fair number of headaches in the past.

From the corner of his eye, William saw Clayton fish out his phone and check his messages. "William I just got word from my friend that's running the transports from MYS. Those Ensigns we're getting, their plane just landed at the airport, it won't be long before they get here. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops if Traffic is bad after they get their bags." The Gunnery Sergeant said as he put the phone away. The Lieutenant had a small smile crack across his face as he opened up a desk drawer and pulled out two dossier folders.

"Gunny Sergeant Clayton, inform every one of the news and have them assembled at the briefing table after the ensigns get here and put their bags away. Pull the extra chairs out of the storage room and make sure everything is in order. I'll be outside waiting for them." William said as he looked at the paperwork for New Year's PR event, he figured he could put it off, if only just for a little bit. To make certain that among other things the new ensigns knew how the unit ran.

Besides, William had always personally greeted newcomers to the unit, and he wasn't about to skip what had become the unit's tradition. 

[=]

Ensigns Mitchel Crawford and Matilda Jones struggled to shake the last dregs of sleepiness from their minds. The two and a half hour plane ride from Maryland they just got off of didn't really give them a chance to get any rest. They knew their deployment orders would entail them getting up early and flying out well before dawn.

However knowing that still hadn't prepared them for the reality of it, not completely anyways. Though on the other hand neither of them had really slept well during the night, before they had to get up and depart for the Airport along with a sizable number of their fellow classmates.

Maybe two of their fellow classmates had gotten on their flight but they were being deployed to elsewhere and therefore they'd part from them after arrival. Most of the rest of their class were flying out west and a small number of their classmates were left behind in Maryland due to their deployment orders. It took almost ten minutes for Matilda and Mitchel to get off the plane and get down to the baggage claim area to get their luggage.

Mitchel sighed with impatience as he waited for the luggage return carousel to start spitting out everyone's luggage. Matilda was just a few feet off to his left, chatting with a civilian. He didn't fault her for talking with civilians, many folks were confused, scared, or for some; in complete denial of how the world was now. Having the chance to speak with Navy personnel, or really anyone from the Military went a long way to help people understand what was going on and maybe assure their fears.

Before Mitchel could ponder further on it, a loud buzzing alarm alerted everyone around the baggage return that their luggage had arrived. Sure enough in a few moments the first large bags and suitcases started making their rounds on the track. Mitchel believed it was good fortune on he and Matilda's part that their luggage was among the first to come out. He grabbed both his and Matilda's bags and pulled them off the track. Matilda had noticed his movement and was at his side by the time he had turned to tell her that he got their bags.

"Wow Mitchel, we got lucky with baggage return didn't we?" Matilda said in a rather upbeat manner as Mitchel handed her bag before they started making their way to the exit of the baggage claim area.

"Yeah we did, didn't we?" Mitchel said before his eyes caught sight of a man, a marine standing near the exit of the building. He held a sign that had their names on it, so the Ensigns both figured that someone from the base was already here to pick them up. Mitchel hadn't expected that, and a brief glance to Matilda told him that she hadn't expected it either.

"Are you Ensigns Matilda Jones and Mitchel Crawford?" The man asked them over the din of the Airport. Even this early in the morning, it was still fairly noisy.

"Yes we are."  
"Good. Follow me; there's a truck waiting out on the loading curb for you two." The marine said before he led them out of the terminal building. Waiting there on the curb for them was a M1109, a scout variant given the utter lack of weapons the vehicle had. The driver was sitting behind the wheel drinking out of a to-go cup and messing about with his phone before he noticed the return of his fellow marine with the Ensigns in tow.

Matilda had to bite back giggles and Mitchel had to subdue chuckles when they saw the driver almost dropped his coffee cup into his lap to _attempt_ to look like he wasn't just screwing around on the phone till now and got the Humvee started.

As Mitchel and Matilda placed their bags in the vehicle before getting in themselves, they heard a few choice words the one marine said to the driver. Though they couldn't quite catch what was exactly said because of noise of the airport even at this early hour, and the rumble of the Humvee's engine.

Once they were settled in the truck and underway, the marine that had greeted them spoke up. "So you two are going to Dog Squad huh? Boy did you two end up in an oddball unit." The man said as the driver weaved the Humvee through traffic.

"Oddball unit?" Matilda said with a measure of confusion.

"Yeah, a mix-and-match of Navy and Marine personnel that deals with the PT Corgis here in New Orleans. The Lt's XO is a Marine Gunnery Sergeant, despite the fact there's a Navy W-5 in the unit." The marine explained as they stopped at a red light. The driver took this moment to jump in on the conversation.

"Yeah, like the only stranger Job you could get in the Navy is dealing with ship girls directly on a regular basis. Though that doesn't mean you won't run into em while doing stuff for Dog Squad. Some of them girls just like either messing with the corgis, spoilin em rotten, or snatching em away for snuggles or some other kind of shenanigan; much to the Lt's continual misery." The drive said with a matter-of-fact tone.

"So are you two part of this, 'Dog Squad' and is that why you were waiting for us at the Airport?" Mitchel asked the marines, who looked at one another for a second before breaking out in laughter just as the light turned green and they got moving again.

"No Sir, we ain't from dog squad. We don't have the dog handling qualifications or experience to get into that unit. We just got asked by the unit's XO to pick up you two from the airport while they got the daytime patrols ready for sortie and fed the returning night patrols." The marine that had greeted said as they passed through the dimmer lit areas of the city. The only strong light present was from the Humvee's headlights since sunrise was still roughly an hour or so away, though the horizon was clearly visible now.

A few minutes of silence passed before Mitchel broke it with a question directed at the marines. "Marines, I've heard a few rumors about Lieutenant Corgi from some of the old salts at the Naval Academy. Mainly that Corgi was the hard-ass of hard-asses when it came to adhering to rules and regulations when he and his class was going through the Academy. Is he still like that?" Mitchel spoke with a degree of concern in his voice.

"Well, yes and no." The marine riding shotgun bluntly replied.

"What do you mean yes and no?" Matilda asked the marines before Mitchel had the chance to say it himself.

"No as far as he doesn't follow _everything_ so strictly now. In fact, depending on circumstances he could let ya get away with quite a bit. Though then again, I suppose that's just the part and parcel of life you get when it comes to dealing with well, anything and _everything_ that involves MSSB." The marine said, and the ensigns grimaced slightly. Their class on ship girls and the... antics they could get up to as well as the bottomless mystery that was MSSB was _woefully_ ad-hock. Though the Ensigns didn't ponder on just how unprepared they really were for dealing with all things MSSB related because the driver spoke up next to finish the second half of what the passenger was saying.

"Yes in the fact that the rules he does strictly enforce are mainly the ones he came up with for dealing with the management and internal workings of Dog Squad... Ugh I don't really remember everything Clayton said and I ain't gonna take guesses on the details, so here's the short of it. You fuck up how Lieutenant Corgi runs his unit or if he learns that you've mistreated and/or neglected the PT Corgis at any point. He _will_ verbally tear ya a new one with the wrathfulness of the Old Testament." The driver said as he made the turn that was the final approach to the main entrance to the naval base.

"Yeah LTJG Jackson found that out second one the hard way…Okay, he _was_ a dumbass for grabbing an angry blimp cat when it was in a scuffle with one of the PT Corgis. But when Lieutenant Corgi came up back here from Port Fourchon to fill in for the LTJG while a replacement was being looked for, Corgi discovered that Jackson had been almost completely negligent with his duties and responsibilities on managing the PT Boats. Lemme tell ya, you could hear the LT chew out Jackson _well_ the hell away from the window of the infirmary room the LTJG was recovering in." The marine riding shotgun said with a tad bit of nervousness in his voice.

"So does that mean Lieutenant Corgi has a short temper?" Mitchel asked with a strong hint of dread. He had enough experiences dealing with people who short tempers to last him several lifetimes, he really didn't want to be deal with another person like that who was also his new CO.

"No, He really doesn't." Both marines said at once, before they glanced at one another and shared a short laugh. Though the marine's laughter died down as the Humvee came up to the Naval base's entrance. It was another minute before the sentries waved them through and one of them elaborated further.

"It's actually pretty damn hard to make the Lieutenant lose his temper most of the time. I've heard from the marines that work under him, he might be grouchy most of the time but he never snaps at anyone unless they've done something to completely deserve it." The marine riding upfront said honest and frankly to the two Ensigns.

Mitchel breathed a sigh of relief at the news, and glance over to Matilda showed that she looked considerably less nervous. Though they were pulled from their thoughts before they had a chance to talk to one another by the marine riding up front clapping his hands hard twice; this drew their attention to the building that the marine was pointing at. However, it was the driver who spoke up.

"Alright, you see that building up ahead. That's the PT Boat Barracks; just about all the Marines on base though call it 'Fort Bork'. Though, uh, you might not wanna call it that around Lieutenant Corgi because uh, yeah he kinda gets _annoyed_ by all the nicknames people have given him or his unit or the buildings they occupy. Hell you two will probably know at least two dozen of those nicknames by the end of today." Their driver informed them as they pulled up to where the paved road ended and a concrete walkway began that led to the barracks building.

Someone was already outside waiting for them. The two marines that chatted with them on the ride got oddly silent all of a sudden and that concerned both Ensigns greatly. It only took a few moments for them to realize that it had to that was someone from 'Dog Squad' waiting for them. Ensigns Matilda Jones and Mitchel Crawford wanted to make a good first impression on whomever it was waiting for them. So they got their bags and got out of the Humvee.

Ensigns Matilda Jones and Mitchel Crawford looked at one another briefly before their gazes shifted back to the man that was waiting for them just outside the PT Boat barracks. As what their Marine driver had informed them that the building in front of them was called.

The man waiting for them had his back facing them, arms folded behind his back in parade rest. This man was obviously Navy like them given his uniform. But to both of their eyes, he seemed like he was tense about something, even the tight cut dusty brown hair the man had mostly concealed by his cover seemed to have been raised in tension. It honestly unnerved the both of them.

Then man turned around with a single fluid motion as they left the Humvee behind and came several steps closer to him.

The two Ensigns snapped to attention the moment they saw the Lieutenant Bars on the man's collar and realized that this was their CO, Lieutenant William Corgi. Matilda and Mitchel were more than a tad bit frightened as his gaze swept over them. With the light of the early dawn sun partially lighting his eyes, it gave the Lieutenant's Hazel-Green eyes a yellow-gold hue to them along with a rather terrifying intensity. It was as if though he was looking down into the very depths of their beings with those eyes, searching for some fundamental fault they possessed.

After a brief few seconds of silent staring, the Lieutenant returned their salutes and spoke up. "At ease sailors. I take it that you're Ensign Matilda Jones and Ensign Mitchel Crawford." The Lieutenant asked them, though his expression said that he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from them.

"Sir, Yes Sir!" They both responded at once before they briefly glanced at each other. The rather serious expression the Lieutenant had faltered slightly as a faint smile cracked across his lips.

"Good. Take your things inside and find yourself an empty room to claim, there's plenty of unused rooms to spare. After that, report back to the General assembly table in the main room to get briefed on what to expect in this unit and introduce the both of you to the people you'll be working with from now on." The Lieutenant said before he thought for a moment and added one more thing

"Ah. Pardon me, I almost forgot to say this. Welcome to the United States Navy's 5th Patrol Torpedo Boat Support Unit or 'Dog Squad' as other members of the Navy colloquially call this unit." He spoke the last part in a far more relaxed tone than he has been using prior.

As they entered through the front door the two ensigns were taken aback at how different the building was on the inside compared to the outside. It hardly looked like what they were used to given that there was a small open kitchen just off to their right. A long table was positioned just outside of it and by the coffee machine. To their left was what looked like a decently sized entertainment area that had several couches, coffee tables & end tables, plus two TVs mounted on the wall.

On the other end of the room there were dozens upon dozens of dog beds neatly lined up on the floor that formed a channel leading to a hallway. The Ensigns walked through the main room, past the PT boats that either played in the open space between the entertainment and sleeping areas or were napping in their beds. It didn't take them long to see that each door along the hallway was someone's quarters, what surprised them was that it looked like everyone here had their own quarters.

Soon the two ensigns found two rooms that were unclaimed and got settled in.

[=]

The two Ensigns thought for sure they hadn't taken _that_ long to unpack and put their things in order. However when they came out of their respective quarters and walked back out into the main room, things were very different compared to when they first came through.

Every dog that was sleeping was now awake and every dog that had been playing had stopped. All the dogs were gathered off to the side of the long table that was adjacent to the open kitchen and they were looking at them. Forty pairs of beady eyes followed their every movement across the room with the fluidity of a well-oiled gun mount. That alone was unnerving enough for Mitchel and Matilda but it was what was waiting for them at the table that unnerved them even further.

At one end of the table sat the Lieutenant and one very stern looking Gunnery Sergeant. Behind them were four marines and two Navy personnel standing at parade rest. All the chairs were pushed in at the table save for the two that were directly across from Lieutenant. The Lieutenant gestured for them to have a seat and they quickly sat down at the table.

Matilda briefly glanced over to the dogs and saw that all but one of them had their eyes squarely focused on Mitchel and her. The odd one out had its eyes focused on the Lieutenant. She felt that the dogs were sizing her and Mitchel up; that didn't help make her feel any more comfortable. In fact, it made her more uncomfortable than she was already. Her eyes darted back to the Lieutenant when she heard him cough.

"I won't beat around the bush here, I'm damn glad that I've got the both of you for my Staff. This unit's been understaffed since its inception but now it's a lot less so with the two of you aboard." The Lieutenant said as the marine sitting next to him handed him a few folders. He opened one of them and flipped a page before his eyes looked up and locked onto Matilda's.

"Ensign Matilda Jones, your file here says that before you enrolled in the Naval Academy, you were a therapy dog trainer for four years. Is this correct?" Lieutenant Corgi asked with a level voice.

"Sir, Yes sir!" Matilda said on reflex, which caused both the marine and the Lieutenant to blink twice before they started chuckling. Much to Matilda's confusion and to some degree, indignation; however the chuckles died soon after they had begun.

"No need to for the strict formalities here Ensign unless otherwise called for, or if you're outside the PT boat Barracks. However when either of you are here, you can just call me William." The Lieutenant said not just to Matilda, but to Mitchel as well. William's gaze then moved to Mitchel as he opened the second folder and looked at its contents.

"Ensign Mitchel Crawford, your file here says that before you enrolled in the Naval academy you spent three years as a K-9 Handler. Is this correct?" William said while closing the folder, looking rather intently at Mitchel.

Mitchel to his credit didn't flinch at William's change of posture, nor from the intensity his gaze held. "Yes Si-yes William." Mitchel was glad he was able to catch himself from being too formal when his CO had just asked him not to. A small smile graced William's face.

"That's damn good to hear. With you two's help I'm certain the PT Corgis can be a hella lot more flexible when they're not in their rigging." William said with plain relief in his voice. He was glad to get two people with their skill sets as part of his unit. He'd made a promise to the dogs that he'd do his damn best to make sure they wouldn't be abandoned or discarded by the Navy when this war was eventually won.

"Alright, now with that out of the way let me introduce you to the people you're going to be working with from now on and a few things you should know about them right off the bat. Staring off with the marine sitting next to me, Gunnery Sergeant Jim Clayton, my XO and the man who handles most of the day to day logistics of the unit." William paused for a moment to let the information sink in before continuing.

"You need something specific from supply, he'll help you get it. No matter what it is." William said, whilst the Gunnery Sergeant nodded before speaking up.

"Trust me; don't be afraid to come to me with a strange request. I get those plenty of times from everyone else."

Matilda and Mitchel listened with rapt attention and followed the Lieutenant's hand as he pointed to one of the two naval personnel standing behind him, and the furthest person on the left.

"Chief Warrant Officer 5 Mitchel Sanderson, He's the Chief Hull maintenance technician for the PT Corgis' rigging. Anything and everything barring the Radar Sets and Torpedoes he manages. Take it from me, he's as overworked as I am or even more so depending on the day of the week." William again paused and allowed the information to sink in before telling the Ensigns about the quirk with Sanderson.

"The last cup of coffee in the coffee pot is exclusively his. Take it without brewing a new pot at your own peril." From the way how the _Lieutenant_ sounded when he mentioned that, it scared both Ensigns.

"William come on, that only happened once!" Sanderson retorted with a small glare directed at William before he regarding the two Ensigns. "Anyways, I won't bite ya heads off if you take the last cup. Just set another pot to brew if you do, okay?"

The Ensigns nodded rapidly, in manner one could liken to a bobble head, which made the Gunnery Sergeant crack up a bit. William rolled his eyes at Jim's behavior and moved his hand to the next person.

"Petty Officer Third Class Simon Lake, before he got into this unit he was a torpedo technician on _USS Florida,_ SSGN-728. After _Florida_ got damaged eight months ago in a depth charge attack out by the Bahamas, Simon was transferred to this unit at my request." William took a small breath before continuing.

"He's generally assisting Sanderson or Sergeant Banks with their work when he's not busy with his own. However, Simon is the _only_ person currently authorized to work on the torpedoes and their mountings on the PT Corgis' rigging." From the deathly serious expression William had on his face when he mentioned the torpedoes, it didn't bode well for the Ensigns. The Ensigns noticed a few of the others grimace, which made them wonder if an incident had occurred in the past.

After a moment of heavy silence, William's expression changed as he spoke up again.

"Also, like almost all submariners he can bluff very well. Don't play poker with him unless you really know what you're doing." William said with an amused look on his face.

"Glad to be working with you two. Hopefully I and Sanderson's workloads can finally drop down a bit."

There was a small murmur of agreement from Sanderson before William moved his hand towards the first of the marines that were standing up.

"Sergeant David Banks, he's our electronics technician. More in point he's responsible for maintaining the radar sets on the PT Corgis' rigging for the dogs that have it. He's also responsible for installing sets on the dogs that are undergoing upgrades." William said with a small hint of pride in his voice.

"Just don't ask him for a drink from the canteen you see him carrying around, unless you want to try uncut torpedo juice." The lieutenant said with a bit of a grin on his face. The next marine in line shuffled a bit uncomfortably at the last part William had mentioned. The Ensigns were concerned and were about to ask for an explanation when Banks spoke up.

"I know what you two are about to say. No, I don't normally drink it while on duty. It's just really good at cleaning electrical contacts and it's damn easy to make in the amounts I use for my job." Banks spoke in a defensive manner. Silencing the questions both ensigns were about to ask. However it did tell them that somewhere in the area of the PT Boat Barracks there was a still.

William moved his hand to the next Marine in line, the one that had shifted uncomfortably on his feet when William mentioned the canteen Sergeant Banks carried with him.

"Lance Corporal Stanley Desmond, he's the unit's communication technician. His main job is to set the radio codes for the day, though he's also responsible for making sure every PT Corgi knows what the day's code and keys are." William paused to let it sink in before continuing.

"He is also responsible for informing the PT Corgis out on sortie of sudden weather developments. He'll route them around particularly bad thunderstorms or to the nearest port to shelter at until the storm passes." William seemed to hesitate for moment after he finished speaking; like there was something else he wanted to say but was unsure if he should say it.

Ultimately, he did say it.

"He's got...strange tastes in music." From the way how the Lieutenant didn't elaborate further on that point, it kinda worried both Ensigns.

Desmond huffed a bit and held an annoyed expression on his face. "My music tastes aren't as strange as everyone makes it out to be, I just like a very large variety of music, that's all."

Jim and William gave briefly looked back behind them to give Stanley a raised eyebrow. In fact, all but one of the personnel standing at parade rest turned and gave Desmond a raise eyebrow. Matilda felt more than she saw from the corner of her eye all of the PT Corgis that had been staring her and Mitchel down shift their gazes to the marine.

Matilda turned her head slightly and saw that the Corgis were giving Stanley what she figured was the Dog equivalent of the raised eyebrow look. Stanley squirmed slightly at the weight of the stares directed at him. After a moment of silence, everyone turned their attention back to the two Ensigns. William then pointed to the only other woman present in the room.

"Private First Class Lisa Ellen. She's the unit's Medic for the PT Corgis. She was a Veterinarian Surgeon up until about a year ago when she signed up for the Marines. While Sanderson, Lake, and Banks can put the Corgis equipment back together, Ellen can put the dogs themselves back together." William said with a healthy respect in his voice.

"She's the closest thing to a dedicated repair ship we've got for the PT Corgis and I've seen her work miracles in the past." The Ensigns could see Lisa's chest swell with pride at the praise.

"However..." William trailed off before he let his arm fall back to his side and his head hang down with a long, suffering sigh before looking back up.

"Ellen is a lewd woman. While she's almost never lewd first; however if you say something that _can_ be taken as an innuendo or otherwise lewd thing, She'll tease ya on it without mercy." Instead of being embarrassed at the remark, the Ensigns noticed Lisa swell even more with pride. There was a devilish grin on the Marine's face and the Ensigns couldn't help but shudder at it. William took a moment, as if though he was bracing himself for something before speaking up again.

"She's also scarily good at voice impersonations too." William said without further comment and a hint of dread in his voice. Crawford and Jones were about to ask him to elaborate further when Ellen spoke up.

"Now, now~ don't make the Lieutenant explain _everything._ That'd take the fun out of karaoke night~" Ellen said with a teasing lit to her voice, a voice which at the mention of Karaoke _disturbingly_ came close to the 'idol' voice used by a certain orange-clad light cruiser.

Matilda struggled to keep herself from cracking up upon hearing the rather impressive impersonation Ellen had just performed. Mitchel was more confused than anything else. William, Jim and everyone other than Stanley and the last marine in line however groaned upon hearing the voice.

William pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed out a suffering sigh before he raised his hand and pointed to the last marine standing at the other end of the line.

"And this is Private First Class Raphael Sandbar. Like you he's new to this unit but he has a general idea of managing the PT Corgis." William said in an encouraging manner to get the rather shy marine to speak up.

Sandbar straightened up a bit more than what the Ensigns thought was possible before speaking. "I look forward to working with the both of you to the best of my abilities."

William was going to inform the Ensigns and Sandbar about the unit's standing orders. However before he could say a word, his phone went off. "Now what?" William grumbled as he fished his phone out of his NWU jacket pocket and checked his texts.

William's eye twitched as he read the text. This didn't go unnoticed by Jim or anyone else. "What's the matter William?" The Gunnery Sergeant said with palpable concern. To which William gave a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose before he looked at his friend.

"The dogs we left with Sergeant First Class Stacker and his men back in Port Fourchon, they got attacked by a big gator, probably a 17 footer when they were out on the water doing maneuver drills." William spoke with vexation before continuing.

"The Dogs killed the gator and dragged it back to the barracks building. Made a mess that Stanley Kubrick would be proud of. Though the gator broke the leg of the PT Corgi it attacked."

Everyone else in the room blanched but not for the same reasons. William dialed a number and a few moments later the person on the other end picked up the line.

"This is Lieutenant Corgi, Sergeant First Class Stacker I'm giving the Phone to PFC Ellen now, she'll walk your medic through the steps for setting that dog's leg." William said while motioning for Ellen to take his phone.

Ellen took the phone and right away and began speaking with Stacker's medic. The change in how she acted shocked the two ensigns, if they hadn't seen the change themselves they wouldn't have believed that this was the same woman.

As Ellen headed back to her quarters, William gave a sigh. "Everyone else is released back to their duties. Pfc Sandbar, wait here for a moment. I have something to tell you and the Ensigns."

Everybody else save for the aforementioned departed to take care of other things. Sandbar, Jones and Crawford however remained with Corgi.

"Okay, Right now I can't take the time to properly inform the three of you of the various standing orders this unit has. So come by my office around 2100. I'll be able to give those standing orders then. Right now I've got other matters that need my attention." William said to the three. Sandbar nodded, though Matilda spoke up.

"And what are we supposed to do now sir?"

"Shadow the others and get a feel for things, help them out when and where you can. Beyond what Simon does, everyone else in the unit knows how to do just about every other job. There's a lot for you two to learn." William said as he got up from his chair before pushing it back in.

"As for me, I've got a whole new mess of paperwork to deal with. On top of the stuff I was putting off to greet you two and introduce you to everyone else. The three of you are released to your duties." William said before walking off towards his office.

Raphael stood there for a moment before he motioned for the Navy Ensigns to come with him. Jim did ask him to help out with brushing the PT Corgis fur and Raphael figured a couple extra hands would get the task done faster.

[=]

William opened the door to his office and sighed as he made his way to his desk and sat down. Looking at his desk, he swore the paperwork that was on it before had multiplied. Could it had been a sub sneaking in through the window to his office to drop off more? Probably, if his past luck was anything to go by.

"Some days, I just ain't payed enough for this crap. I swear, if those Corgis did that just because Stacker and his men are Army..." The Lieutenant muttered darkly to himself as he went about the seemingly unending task that was completing paperwork.

After a short while, Ellen entered his office to return his phone. He picked it up and started speaking with Stacker on how to clean up the mess, and keep ahead of the inquiries that were bound to follow.

It was only 0735 and William already felt somewhat tired. Today was going to be long day, he could just feel it in his bones.

[=]


	58. Doggos! Part 5

An Officer and his Dogs Part 5

[=]

Ensign Matilda Jones was completely utterly exhausted from the day. Her legs felt like they were made of unset Jell-O and her arms didn't feel that far behind either. Still though, she was feeling ravenous and tonight was baked Ziti night at the base mess hall, so there was no way she was going to pass it up. Even if her arms protested every time she went to take another bite.

She was glad that Crawford and Sandbar had taken seats at the table she was at in the mess hall. Matilda knew they weren't the only members of 'Dog Squad' present in the mess hall either. She had heard more than she had seen Lisa talking with some other marines. Though the Ensign did see Sergeant Banks hovering around in Ellen's general direction, seemingly always keeping one eye on the PFC at all times.

Taking a moment to finish her current bite, Matilda looked over to Sandbar. "How the heck do you guys do this kind of stuff day and day out?" She asked curiously.

"The first couple days always suck, but after that you start getting used to it. Really speaking, the best advice I can give you and Mikey is to make sure you're drinking plenty of water. You'll need it for all the running you'll end up doing when the Corgis decide to start messing with you two." Sandbar said in a nonchalant manner as he finished off the last of his food.

A small clatter ranged out as Mitchel Crawford or 'Mikey' as the rest of the unit decided to nickname him, dropped his fork with an expression of mute horror on his face "Wait the dogs will start messing with us?"

"Yeah Mikey, from what the Gunny told me. They love to mess with new people. I guess I got out of that because my prior CO was LTJG Jackson." Sandbar said the last part rather quietly.

The two Ensigns winced; they've heard plenty about the prior person who was supposed to be managing the PT Boats of New Orleans. None of it was good. That wasn't to say that the LTJG was a bad sailor... but it became painfully clear that the man simply wasn't meant to handle _anything_ related to MSSB. Some people in the Navy simply _couldn't_ handle dealing with the stuff.

Ensign Crawford finished the last of what was on his plate before glancing over to PFC Sandbar with a curious stare "Sandbar, at lunch I overheard some junior officers talking the Lt. They said that the Lieutenant was...crazy, to put it lightly." Crawford said in a low whisper, not exactly wanting anyone else from the unit overhearing what he just said.

Sandbar and Jones Both had disbelief on their faces. "Well those officers never had to deal with ship dogs or ship girls then." Sandbar stated with a tad bit of venom in his voice.

"Yeah Raphael has a point, you honestly can't call someone crazy for working with them. I mean they're so strange that it'd be more of a surprise that someone _didn't_ pick up some quirks just to cope with it. Like, I never thought a small dog could have as much fur brushed off of them as a Saint Bernard until we helped you and the Gunnery Sergeant brush them earlier today." Matilda said with an even tone as she idly pointed to Sandbar with her fork.

"Now, I've heard from a couple marines that the Lt. was a class-one workaholic. The man's practically married to his job." Matilda continued before she finished off her soda before adding something else. "Honestly wouldn't surprise me if he married a ship girl."

Sandbar nodded a couple times as he thought on it. "Yeah I can believe that one. In the few Days I've known the Lieutenant, the man just doesn't seem to stop for anything. I don't know about that second one though. However I've heard that he might have a crush on one or two of em." Sandbar said before casually checking his wrist watch and doing a double take when he saw what time it was.

"Uh guys, we should cut the gossip and head back to barracks building, like uh, now. It's about 15 till 2100." The young marine said rather hurriedly as he picked up his tray to put it up. The two Ensigns followed close behind him.

As laid back and as forgiving as the Lt seemed to be, none of the three wanted to be late and test just how forgiving their commanding Officer really was. Especially the Ensigns, they didn't want to set a bad impression on their commanding officer.

[=]

William's brow was knitted together with deep thought as he stared at the various pins on the wall-mounted map. Each crimson pin on the map denoted the reported location of a sea mine that had been destroyed by the daytime PT Corgi patrols.

While normally it wasn't odd for him to see in reports the occasional mine or three be discovered and destroyed by the daytime patrols, two or three times every week. It was the sheer number that had been found and destroyed today alone that worried him a great deal.

Between the patrol routes ran by the PT Corgis stationed out of New Orleans and the patrol routes ran by the PT Corgis stationed out of Port Fourchon. More than 80 devices had been spotted and destroyed by the daytime patrols.

Gunnery Sergeant Clayton was still adding more pins to the map with one hand, as the other held a note pad with all the listed coordinates of the sea mines that were discovered and destroyed today. William heard the marine grumble soft swears each time he had to reposition a pin that was errantly placed. He wanted to help his friend with the tedious task. However Jim was insistent that he would do it himself. William knew better than to try arguing the point.

As he watched Jim push-in the last of the crimson pins firmly into the cork-board that the map was affixed to. William counted a final total of 86 devices that had been spotted and destroyed today. It was a worrying number to say the least.

The Gunnery Sergeant stepped back from the map to allow the Lieutenant to have an unobstructed view of the map. William could see that the majority of the pins were spread across a jagged corridor located barely 60 miles southeast off the coast of Port Eads; stretching about some 70 miles to the south. The majority of the pins were located in the general direction of New Orleans.

From the corner of his eye, the Lieutenant could see the marine furrow his brow and lightly chew his bottom lip for a moment. "I don't get it, where the hell are all of these mines coming from?" Jim said quietly, as though if speaking normally would have caused the answer to flee from his grasp.

William grunted a small agreement as he studied the map intently. He knew that submarine activity wasn't any higher than it was normally.

In fact, as he looked at his notepad. The Lieutenant saw that Abyssal Submarine activity around the Gulf region had actually gone down. Though slightly compared to three months ago, it was still down and thus it couldn't explain the mines.

William tapped his index finger against the notepad as his gaze unconsciously traveled from the wall map to the second of two models that, among other things, decorated his desk. A 1/72 scale model of an Elco PT Boat, PT-109. As he stared at the model, his mind drifted to the possibility that the mines could have been dropped by PT boats.

Clayton seemed to have come to the same conclusion he had arrived to for the marine spoke up first.

Clayton turned away from the map and met Corgi's eyes. "Maybe Abyssal fast attack boats are dropping these things off at night?"

Corgi silently admitted that the marine might be right. Fast attack craft could theoretically drop off the type of mines the PT Boats had been encountering during the day, at night and remain undetected. However the Lieutenant knew there was just one issue with that possible explanation.

"That's possible Jim, however there's no way fast attack boats would have the range to do it and come back to wherever they're based from. Even the German E-Boats don't have the range for a round trip."

"Normally that's true William. Unless however there is a tender or two that's going along with the fast attack boats, therefore extending their operational range significantly. Though then the question becomes; where the hell could this tender or tenders be home-ported at?"

William covered his mouth with his left hand, pondering the question Jim had raised and the point he raised. Once again he found his eyes drift from the map on the wall to his desk. This time, his eyes settled on the second model that adorned the office fixture and guarded the letters from home and family abroad.

A 1:535 scale model of _USS Wisconsin_. It was an old model that he had put together over a decade ago, a present from his late grandfather. William had left the model at home for the longest time before taking it with him when he took this position just a month past two years now.

William often found himself staring at the model whenever he felt doubt and uncertainty, or even when he was in deep thought about something. Silly as the notion was. He always felt a measure of reassurance and clarity come to him from staring at it.

Though after a few silent minutes of having his gaze drift between the model and the map, trying to divine an answer like how he heard some admirals were rumored to be able to do. Lieutenant William Corgi felt himself no closer to an answer to the question Clayton had forwarded.

Instead a different sort of realization came to the Lieutenant. While it wasn't something that'd directly lead them to where the possible fast attack craft tenders could be based at. However it could lead them to start looking in the right direction.

"Jim this is just a hunch, but what if we overlaid a map of the ocean currents and remarked where the mines were found? Maybe then we could narrow down the scope of the possible search area." William quietly said to Clayton with a spark of intuition as he reached down and pulled out a rolled-up large transparent map of the ocean currents from the bottom desk drawer.

It was a useful thing to keep on hand. William had learned long ago that planning with it allowed him to plot out patrol routes for the PT Corgis that reduced the amount of ocean current the ship dogs had to fight against.

Reducing the amount of fuel their aviation engines consumed hourly by allowing the Ocean currents themselves to help propel them along where possible; thus extending their rather short operational range as much as possible to cover as much coastline as possible from their home port.

Even if the gains from planning patrol routes with the Gulf currents in mind was small. Every bit counted; especially after Saratoga and Alaska had departed to help liberate Pearl Harbor. Thus thinning the available surface response the Gulf was able to call upon for defense and patrol.

The Gunnery Sergeant flashed a familiar and toothy if a bit lop-sided grin before joining William. The pair would spend the next ten minutes pulling out the all the pins. Jockeying the transparent Ocean currents map overtop the old pre-war satellite map of the Gulf Region & Caribbean. Before affixing it in place with some tape and then finally reinserting the red pins into their prior locations.

Stepping back away from the wall in near-unison when they had finished the tedious task, William heard Jim gasp with shock beside him. He couldn't blame his XO, the dispersion of the mines found and destroyed today. They matched rather closely to the Gulf Stream's many eddies and currents. More in particular, it eerily lined up with the extended loop of the main Gulf Current that reached Louisiana's bird foot delta.

William could also see that some of the discovered mines would have been on an eventual track to float through the Florida Straight and beyond. Had they not been discovered and destroyed when they had been.

"Bastards are mining the Gulf Stream." William hissed between gritted teeth with a low voice. His nostrils flared as he took a breath and turned to meet Clayton's eyes, before continuing with a certain fire in his eyes, the intense and unyielding gaze of hatred the Gunnery Sergeant knew _all_ too well.

"Even if they don't hit their intended targets here in the Gulf. Those floating mines could get carried off by the stream and impact shipping traffic from Florida to as far as Norfolk."

"William, are you sure the mines wouldn't just sink in the rougher Atlantic waters before they got past Georgia?"

"Clayton, I remember seeing the aftermath of just one of those mines striking a civilian freighter. I saw firsthand, what one of those… **_things_** did to a minesweeper a few months before _New Jersey_ returned to the fleet. And that was back when we were finding and safely destroying the damned things 20 times a day within our patrol sectors. Back before we figured out how to consistently summon the PT Corgis or _anyone else_ for that matter." William's jaw tensed as the pair of memories floated to the surface of his mind like oil from a sunken ship. After a moment he released the tension with a sigh and continued.

"If today's daytime PT Corgi patrols finding and destroying 86 of these goddamn sea mines is any indication… if this is something that's becoming the new norm… then how many of these accursed things are slipping by our current screens? Completely unnoticed till it's too late…" William quietly trailed off, his voice dying back to a ghost of a whisper.

William wasn't exactly sure how much of a threat the mines _could_ pose outside of the Gulf Region and the coasts of Florida. He did however know all too well how destructive those floating mines could be. He knew that it wouldn't take many mines managing to stay afloat long enough to reach the major shipping lanes on the East coast. To slow down shipping to a complete and utter snail's pace.

William also knew that resources and scarce surface assets would have to be rerouted and redirected to make sure the sea lanes were clear of any and all possible mine threat along the East coast. He knew that would stretch defensive lines around populated coastal areas more thinly than they already were.

The Lieutenant could only fathom what the impact on morale would be if this sea mine situation intensified even more. Or worse yet, it spread to areas far beyond the Gulf Region.

However it was at that moment that William's lifelong friend. Jim Clayton said something that took the oil spill of his prior worrying concerns, and dropped a lit flare into it.

"You think this could be the prelude to something big William?" Jim spoke with palpable concern in his voice as his worried eyes glanced from William to the map and then back to his friend.

Trying to guess what the enemy would do next was normally far above Jim Clayton's pay grade as a Gunnery Sergeant of the United States Marine Corps. Triply so considering that the enemy who's next move he was trying to make a guess on was a seaborne one.

However even he was left uneasy by the things he was seeing. Especially now that he and William had everything plotted down on the maps. Jim could only guess what William was thinking and feeling currently. However he knew from experience that his friend was on the knife's edge with stress.

William took a few seconds to calm and center his mind, before he met Jim's dark brown eyes with a steady stare.

"I don't know Jim. I don't know." William's voice was strained, like a steel cable with almost enough tension on it to snap.

However before William or Jim could ponder or discuss the developing situation any further, and before either of the two's mounting concerns could overwhelm them. There was a knock on the office door, which deflated the heavy atmosphere that had been building in the room almost instantly. Much to William and Jim's unspoken silent relief.

The Lieutenant did briefly wonder who it could have been at his Office door at this hour. At least, until he checked his watch and realized it was 2100.

The time he had told Pfc. Sandbar, Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford earlier today to come to his office by for them to be given the unit's standing orders. Since the incident at Port Fourchon involving a Gator, a few PT Corgis, the mess that Stacker and his men found in the PT Barracks during the morning had interrupted the time had he originally set aside for briefing them.

A soft, quiet chuckle slipped past William's lips as he went back to his desk. "Well at least Sandbar and them showed up on time, I gotta give the three of them credit for punctuality. Maybe even a reward for the new ensigns, Whatch ya think Gunny?" William whispered with small grin.

"Yeah I suppose we ought to give em credit for that. Perhaps have em get lighter duties for tomorrow. Especially the new Ensigns, they look like they need it badly."

"Yeah they do look like they need a bit of respite tomorrow doesn't it? Maybe I should have them help Ellen do the Corgis monthly physical checkups tomorrow."

"Sir with all due respect, that's being just plain unmerciful to them. Leaving the Ensign's at Ellen's complete mercy for half the day." Clayton spoke while feigning mock horror and trying his dammed best to not bust a gut laughing.

William himself was barely doing any better to keep a straight face. "Oh come now Clayton, at least when the three of them have received the unit's standing orders they won't be as easy pickings for Lisa… among other things." The grin William had and the rather upbeat mood of the room disappeared when he trailed off before speaking the last part.

Jim's rather upbeat mood fell faster than a lead brick in a tub at the mentioning. No matter how many times they had done this, there always was one standing order that made the entire affair of giving new unit members said standing orders a draining one.

The last standing order for the unit, the order of last resort for if the worst were to come. The one order _everyone_ in the unit didn't want to think about but was prepared to carry out if it ever came to seeing it followed through. William and Clayton knew that this order had to be the last one on the list given. Trying it any other way would cause the three new members to forget all the ones after it.

So the Gunnery Sergeant and Lieutenant would have to do their best to be upbeat and maybe humorous when giving out the preceding standing orders. Some of them were actually funny but they were there for good reason. Most of all, they knew they had to do their best to conceal their mounting dread when they got near to giving the last standing Order.

William, despite having written that last standing order himself, didn't like it. Not one bit at all. But until the last abyssal monster sank beneath the waves and the oily stain it left behind on the water's surface was purified by fire. This last standing order would remain in the unit's orders book. It had to.

"Enter." The Lieutenant spoke with a somewhat casual but tense and tired manner. The day's events had drained him quite a bit and soon this matter regarding the standing orders would drain him even more. As the door knob turned, he gave the Gunnery Sergeant a quick sideward glance and saw that his friend's face held a faintly grumpy tint on an otherwise blank expression.

William saw Jim stand off just to his left as the door to the office opened and the three people standing on the other side entered.

[=]

Pfc Sandbar, Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford walked into Lieutenant Corgi's office. The three of them were doing their best from showing any signs of nervousness. So far they were managing it pretty well.

Even though the three of them knew they weren't being reprimanded, entering their CO's office was still more than a little bit intimidating. More so when they realized the unit's XO was also in the office, just standing off to and slightly behind the Lieutenant's left side.

Seeing the three chairs pulled out for them, they quickly took a seat before the Lieutenant's desk. They saw the Lieutenant rub his eyes once with his hand, maybe to get tiredness cleared from them. Neither ensign nor the PFC was sure of gesture's meaning so they didn't comment on it.

The Lieutenant met his Hazel-Green eyes with each of theirs for a moment apiece, like though he was trying to determine how attentive the three of them were. In return they gave him their complete and undivided attention.

"Alright, first off I do apologize for the lateness of this. Sometimes things don't go according to plan and you have to improvise on the spot." The Lieutenant stared with a small sigh, for a moment his eyes briefly glanced over to the wall map before returning to them.

"Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford before I get started on the Unit's standing orders, how was your first day in the unit? No need for the formalities, it's late and we're all tired from the day." The Lieutenant asked with a friendly tone, he hadn't really had a chance to observe the two's reactions to what their duties now entailed.

Nor did he have the chance to see what their particular strong suites were. He needed to fix that sometime soon. Though the Lieutenant did think about charging his XO or Sergeants Banks with the task of observing the Ensigns and reporting back their talents to him, after all delegation was also part of an officer's duties.

Matilda glanced at the two models on the Lt's desk for a moment before meeting the Lt's eyes. "Exhausting but I'm glad to have helped out and learn some stuff." She said with a hint of unease creeping into her tired voice.

Mitchel had his eyes already locked on the Lt's when he looked over to him. "Not as Hectic as I first thought." Was the other Ensign's crisp reply to the question asked. The Lieutenant simply nodded before pulling a small folder from one of his desk drawers and thumbing it open.

"Alright, it's good to see that the two of you are adjusting to the unit pretty well. Now let's get this outta the way so we can all get some well-earned shut eye. Though don't be afraid to ask for clarification on some of these standing orders if I or the gunny here doesn't give it first. I know they can be quite strange when you first hear em." William said with a small amount of humor to his voice.

Sandbar, Jones and Crawford listened with rapt attention as the Lieutenant began. "Okay, first Standing order you should know is that you shouldn't give the PT Corgis too much sweet stuff. They'll get Hyper and become thirty times more difficult to manage."

William saw the three before him internalize that information and nodded slightly to signal him to continue. "Second standing order is also simple; never leave the PT Corgis alone with weapons or munitions." Now William saw confusion on the Ensign's and Sandbar's faces.

"Uh, can you explain that one sir?" Matilda asked with a bit of concern and a lot of confusion.

William gave her a small nod. "That's quite simple Ensign, PT Boat Crews during the Second World War mounted anything they could find to give their vessels additional firepower. This trait is still present with the PT Corgis. Though I've done what I've can to curb that behavior, it's still something intrinsic to them. Though for some reason, perhaps historical, they do prefer stealing the .50's and other weapon systems owned by the Army." William trailed off, the three seated before him glanced to one another with some lingering confusion on their faces but they nodded for William to continue.

"Standing order number three is also simple; you take the Peanut butter out and open it. You close it, even if you're just turning around to get something off the counter. Otherwise when you look back, one of the dogs has already licked most of the jar clean."

The Ensigns and Sandbar could only wonder how often this must have happened to have the Lt make a standing order about it. Jim saw this and spoke up.

"I know what y'all are thinking, and I'll say this. We went through twenty jars of the stuff in one day before the Lt went and made a Standing order to keep it from happening again. Those Corgis can be silent little buggers when they want to be." Jim said with a hint of irritation. After a moment of silence, William resumed.

"Standing Order number four is also simple. Never, _ever_ leave Private First Class Lisa Ellen alone with Destroyers. Not even for a Minute." William said with a fair amount of dread in his voice as his eyes flicked over to the office door.

Sandbar and the two Ensigns saw this, and saw the Gunnery Sergeant follow the same motion. Which only served to make the confusion they had about the order grow more intense.

"I don't quite understand sir." This time Crawford was the one speak up, a curious look was in his eyes. William sighed and met the Ensign's gaze with an empty stare before answering.

"The last time Ellen was left alone with Destroyers. They asked her for some advice on boys...she told them some _things_ and then a few hours later I have a Heavy Cruiser blowing down my damn Office Door. Demanding answers on what one of my Subordinates taught her Destroyers. I don't know about the three of you, but I and Clayton here sure as Hell don't wanna stare down eight inch guns again." William said with a fair bit of fear in his voice before Jim spoke up.

"If any of the three of you fuck up this one, we're leaving you at the Momboat's mercy." The Gunnery Sergeant said with a completely flat tone.

Ensign Jones, Ensign Crawford and PFC Sandbar all shared nervous looks at one another before they did their damn best to internalize the order. They did _not_ want to screw up that order. When William saw that they were ready he moved to the next order on the list.

"Standing Order number 5. Should the war situation change such that a Japanese Submarine is transferred to the Gulf Region, Pfc Ellen is under _no_ circumstances allowed to come into contact with said Japanese Submarine **_ever_**... Me and Clayton don't have to explain this one, _do we_?" The look both the Lieutenant and Gunnery Sergeant gave Jones, Crawford and Sandbar. Made the three of them nod their heads rather quickly in a manner not too dissimilar to a bobble head.

The Gunnery Sergeant and Lieutenant both gave sighs of relief for not having to explain the reasons for that order. After a moment to take a breath William continued once more.

"Standing Order number 6 is the Last Standing order regarding Private First Class Lisa Ellen. She is never allowed to meet the destroyer Fubuki, even if she's supervised, we're worried that the poor destroyer will break if she ever meets Ellen." William said as if though that was all that needed to be said about the subject.

Pfc Sandbar spoke up, clearly confused. "But uh sir, what does Fubuki have to do with Ellen to warrant a standing order like that?" Sandbar asked, before wilting under the combined flat gazes of the Lieutenant and Gunnery Sergeant.

"Raphael, you've seen Ellen enough to memorize what she looks like right?" William asked flatly.

"uhh, yes sir." Raphael said after a moment's hesitation. William's eyes looked over to the two Ensigns briefly before returning to the marine.

"Now I can forgive you for not understanding since you have likely not have seen a picture of Fubuki before, but if you looked at a picture of her and a picture of Ellen. You'll see that they look... eerily similar to each other." William said with some hesitation.

"You could practically say that Ellen looks like an older, curvier, and Green-eyed American Cousin to Fubuki." Jim added to which William nodded in silent agreement. Sandbar found his voice and asked the question neither Ensign was brave enough to ask.

"But sir, Fubuki is on the west coast running convoys to Japan. She's never going to be deployed here to the Gulf." Sandbar spoke with even more confusion than before. Once again Sandbar shrunk back in his seat, when the Lieutenant momentarily flashed a hard icy stare at the marine.

Though William dropped the glare after a sigh "I don't give two damns whether or not if it seems ever seems like that Ellen and Fubuki could ever meet. Be prepared for the possibility because I sure as hell don't want to find myself in a Situation where I'm starring down an angry Japanese Fleet Admiral for one of my Subordinates mentally breaking one of his Destroyers." He said with an icy flat tone, which snuffed out any further chances for conversation on the topic.

After a moment, the ice in his eyes melted to a hardened, somewhat fiery stare. "Standing order Number 7. If and _when_ briefings are given in the PT Briefing room; You are to remain holding onto the leather leashes provided to restrain each dog from tearing the projectors apart whenever the image of an abyssal is shown on screen at all times." William said with a level voice.

None of the three seated before William dared to ask for further explanation, they all had heard how ship girls got when they saw pictures of Abyssals. It wasn't that hard to figure how the dogs would react to the sight of them. However Ensign Crawford had an expression of undisguised concern cross his face as a thought came to his mind.

Jim saw this look and gave a short cough, William gave a small nod and the Gunnery Sergeant then spoke up. "I've got an idea what you're thinking there Ensign Crawford, and the answer is no. The dogs won't do anything to hurt you, even when they're growling and snarling at images of an abyssal spotted by recon planes." Jim said before taking a quick breath to continue.

"They won't turn round and bite ya. Nor will they yank ya arm outta yer socket if you decide to hold onto one of the wood posts in the briefing room. Trust me on that one. The dogs won't hurt you ever when we gotta brief them on something new spotted in the Gulf." The senior marine said in a gruff but comforting manner, not caring if his southern accent came out a bit.

Ensign Crawford and to a lesser extent the other two relaxed in their seats. Jim nodded to William once and the Lieutenant took a breath. Not only to ready himself for giving the remaining orders but to also prepare himself. For it was nearly time to give the last standing order. After quietly exhaling a bit, he looked at Sandbar and the Ensigns with the all the Authority he could muster.

"Standing order number 8, while it mostly applies to you two-" William shifted his gaze between the two Ensigns seated "-it's good that all of you hear it. No one of the unit is to pull rank on my designated XO and OPS officer of this unit besides me when it comes to matters regarding the unit." He only allowed a moment of silence before he resumed.

"That means if I learn that you tried to pull rank on Gunnery Sergeant Clayton here or Sergeant Banks, you will have to answer to me. Naturally this also means if anything happens to me. Gunnery Sergeant Clayton takes command of the unit. If anything happens to him, then command of the unit goes to Sergeant Banks." William said with a even tone.

Matilda swallowed the small lump that was forming in her throat before speaking up. "And if something also happens to Sergeant Banks, who does command of the unit go to then sir?"

The Lieutenant and the Gunnery Sergeant both smiled at the question. William gave a nod to Jim to take the helm for answering that question while he prepared himself for giving the last standing order.

"That's a good question ask Ensign. Should the CO, Designated XO and Designated OPS officer be incapacitated, KIA or otherwise unable to lead the unit; then command will default to the next most senior member of the unit. Which is CW-5 Sanderson, unless command of the unit is given over to the highest ranking individual present or is otherwise stated by the acting CO at the time." Clayton spoke with a calming, steady tone before going silent.

For a moment there was a heavy silence in the room as Sandbar, Jones and Crawford saw the Lieutenant draw in a deep breath. As if though he was preparing himself for something difficult to say.

William closed his eyes briefly and steadily exhaled. When his eyes opened, they had an intense fiery gaze in them. Yet at the same time there was a distance to them, a distance similar to a thousand-yard stare. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed as he spoke in a low voice.

"Standing Order Number 9 is an order..." William sighed and grimaced "That I hope _never_ has to be carried out. However it must be known for if the worst was to come. Should the Abyssals assault our base and make a ground invasion..." William trailed off as a lump formed in his throat. He swallowed it before gritting his teeth and continuing.

"Should escape or rescue be a total impossibility and those monsters are closing in on your position. Then you are not to be taken alive by them. Fight to very end, take as many of the bastards with you as you can, and bloody those you can't take with you. But under no circumstance are you allowed to allow yourself to be captured alive." The Lieutenant sucked in a breath between his gritted teeth before continuing. Not giving any of the three seated before him a chance to speak up.

"Furthermore...should during such a worst-case scenario any of you see Myself, The Gunnery Sergeant or anyone else of the unit being dragged off by those monsters alive. Then you are to draw your sidearm or whatever weapon you have on hand at the time and shoot us dead. We will do the same for any of you." William said with a deathly serious and even tone before he paused again to take a breath to steady himself.

The Lieutenant could see PFC Sandbar was in a state of shock. He also saw that Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford had disbelief and even outrage on their faces, they both looked like they were about to say something. William raised his hand to silence them for a moment, he hadn't finished speaking and he was going to finish this before he took their questions.

When the Lieutenant saw the Ensigns close their mouths with an audible click, he resumed. "To this end, each of you, as are all members of Dog Squad; are required to spend a minimum of four hours a week at the firing range doing target practice with your issued Sidearm or other qualified weapons until you have at least a sharpshooter's proficiency with your chosen weapon or weapons." William drew in another quick breath before resuming again.

"You may spend more than four hours a week at the firing range So long as your time at the range does not impact your assigned unit duties. Provided prior written notice and barring any unexpected developments occurring." William finished quietly with a strained voice.

The Lieutenant allowed his hand to fall back to his desk with a heavy thud. He gave a small nod to tell the Ensigns and Sandbar that they were free to speak now. And speak they did.

"Sir, with all due respect, why the hell do you have that as a Standing Order, Sir?" Ensign Crawford asked as he leaned forwards in his chair. William met the Ensign's eyes with a haunted gaze.

"Tell me Ensign Crawford. Have you ever seen an Abyssal ship first-hand?"

"N-no sir."

"Do you know what the things manning Abyssal ships look like Ensign?" William asked with a knife edge to his voice.

"No sir..." Ensign Crawford whispered quietly as he shrank back into his seat.

"I have, and I honest to god hope none of you ever have to." William said flatly as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk with his fingers stepped between one another. His Hazel-Green eyes focused on the Ensign like laser beams.

"And because of Gunnery Sergeant Clayton's connections within the Marine Corps and more specifically, the marines that retook Woody Island. I've seen the pictures and videos of the horrid fate that awaits anyone who is captured by those monsters…the aftermath of it anyways." William spoke the last part in a voice that was just above a quiet whisper.

"I don't wish that kind of fate unto anyone, most of all the people I command." It took everything William had to not shudder when he spoke of what the Marines that took Woody Island had found. He closed his eyes briefly to banish the fear he was feeling with his anger and intense undying hatred of the monsters.

When the Lieutenant opened his eyes again, the look of shell-shock and fear was gone from them. In its place was fire, a subdued but nigh all-consuming hatred. "And that is why I made a standing order for no one in this unit to be taken alive by those monsters should the worst ever come to pass."

William quietly exhaled through his nose before resuming "By all means, do everything you can to escape to live and fight another day if the bastards march up from the beaches onto land. However if escape proves impossible and if you aren't able to hold out somewhere for rescue, then make sure they don't take you alive. Do I make myself clear?"

"SIR! YES SIR!" Private First Class Raphael Sandbar, Ensign Matilda Jones and Ensign Mitchel Crawford responded on reflex. Though William saw on their faces a clear amount of fear scrawled across them. Though he did wonder whether or not if the fearful expression they had was due to what he told them or if it was due to him, He didn't know.

After a few moments of uneasy silence, William sighed and motioned for the three to leave. "I've finished briefing y'all on the unit's standing orders. If in case you need a reminder of them. Ask Gunnery Sergeant Clayton and he'll provide you with a written copy of the standing orders. The three of you are released for the night. Go get some shut eye. You all must be exhausted...I know I am."

The two Ensigns and PFC Sandbar got up from their chairs and hastily departed the office, unsure of how exactly to react to everything that had just transpired.

[=]

As the Office door started to close, its progress was momentarily halted as something small and fluffy came barreling into the room.

A few moments later the springs of the chair the Lieutenant was sitting in groaned slightly in protest as the PT Corgi jumped up from the floor into his lap. The Lieutenant smiled as the dog poked his chest with its snout, he knew the dog was trying to cheer him up in her own way.

He gave the dog a few ear scratches and a few head pats. "Good girl, that's a good girl. I know you're trying to cheer me up. Thank you." The Lieutenant said softly before he sighed again. This time he turned in his chair to face the Gunnery Sergeant.

"I hate having to give that order Jim, I honestly do." William said as he idly played with the PT Corgi's ears. His movements slowed as the exhaustion and drain of the day and now this affair took its toll on him.

"I know William, but I also know why you made that order and to be honest. After I saw what my buddies that retook Woody had seen. I can't blame ya for making that order. Shootin ya self or blowing ya self-up is far more preferable to _that._ " Jim said with undisguised disgust and horror regarding what the Woody Island Marines had found.

"Alright, enough of this crap, let's go get some shut yeah?" William said as he made to get up from the chair. The Pt Corgi hopped off his lap and was practically glued to his ankles as he got up and made his way to his Office door. Jim joined him by the door a moment later.

"Hey Jim, make sure those three have some time to go to the range tomorrow. Make it an order if you have to, okay?"

"I will William. Hell, I'll go to the range with them to give em pointers and finish out the last of my weekly required four hours while I'm at it." Jim said with small chuckle, which brought a small smile to William's face because he knew which weapon Jim favored to use at the range.

"Jim yer gonna make em Green with Envy with that BAR the PT Boats found and gave ya." William glanced down to the dog at his feet, which seemed to do the dog equivalent of becoming flustered. "Still can't figure out where they found one in mint condition though, it like it came right off the factory floor." The Lieutenant said with a curious stare directed at the PT Corgi before opening the door.

"MSSB perhaps?" Jim offered as an explanation. The two men looked at one another for a moment before laughing. After a few moments of chuckles they then parted ways and headed to their respective quarters.

It was perhaps a final good note to end an otherwise hectic and draining day.

[=]


	59. The Hunt for Abyssal Graf Spee -I

**Uploader's Note: What happens when a commerce raider (that once followed international laws of surrender, I think?) becomes an Abyssal?**

 **...brace yourselves.**

* * *

 **Hunt for the Abyssal Graf Spee**  
 **Part 1**

* * *

Intrepid smiled softly and hummed herself a tune as she sailed in formation around the convoy. The trip to America had gone smoothly, and nobody had sighted any U-boats. The weather on the trip back to Britain was looking to be worse, but winter storms had never stopped the convoys before.

At the convoy's lead was her big sister Icarus. The older destroyer was dashing about on the seas, her arms spread out wide as she made adorable sounding airplane noises. Intrepid had half a mind to tell off her big sister, since they were still on duty, guarding a convoy of important supplies and all, but she decided not to. Icarus always tried to act so seriously whenever they were on base, and it was nice to see her big sister relaxing and having fun again.

Unfortunately, Intrepid didn't have to tell her sister to stop. "Icarus, stop messing around!" came the harsh shout from Eskimo. Intrepid always thought that the Tribal was much too serious. She may have been bigger than either of the I-class, but that didn't mean she had to be a stick in the mud. There were plenty of cruisers who did that without needing her help.

Besides, nobody had seen any U-boats yet. Icarus should still be allowed to have a little fun, right?

The splash of heavy shells indicated that no, Icarus wasn't allowed to have fun. At the moment, none of them were.

"Intrepid, stay with the convoy! Icarus, with me!" Eskimo commanded suddenly, and the two destroyers veered away, towards the direction that the shells had come from. Intrepid tried to watch what was happening as she maneuvered to the lead position of the rapidly panicking formation, but the action was too far away.

She watched as Icarus and Eskimo fired at something over the horizon, their 4.7" rifles blazing away as they rushed their assailant. Intrepid watched as Eskimo, then Icarus dipped out of sight. She listened as Eskimo was blown away by heavy shells. She could only imagine damage dealt that corresponded with her agonized screams of pain before another salvo brutally silenced her.

Intrepid nervously kept an eye on the lead transport as she listened in on Icarus' battle. She barely heard the SOS call from one of the transports, but was more focused on her sister's fight for her life.

"Trep!" Icarus shouted over comms, the staccato of her guns blazing away in the background. "Get the convoy out of here! She's a panzerschiffe! The G-" Icarus' panicked shout was cut off by a brutal explosion. Intrepid watched in horror as one of her sister's main battery mounts soared skyward, cresting the horizon with a plume of fiery smoke, before plunging back down with a sickening crash.

Terrified by the brutal execution of her divisionmates, Intrepid screamed when the shells began falling amongst the convoy. Her resolve managed to survive the first transport capsizing under the fire from the Abyssal panzerschiffe that she still couldn't see.

The destroyer turned around to try and assist the men as they leapt from the burning ship. But she wasn't a destroyer as she had been. She was a girl, she'd be able to help one, maybe two men.

Halfway through her turn, Intrepid froze, unable to turn away, as she watched burning men fling themselves from the ship's decks, the flames clinging to cloth and skin. She watched as desperate men screamed for release, their skin burning. The transport split in half, and oil spilled out from the middle, quickly catching alight and scarring Intrepid's memory with the sight of men burning in the waves.

When the Abyssal appeared above the horizon, revealing the horribly corrupted visage of a ship far larger, and far more dangerous than her, Intrepid broke and ran.

Exeter paced the docks, waiting for permission to sail out and find the missing convoy. She scowled at the gray clouds hanging low. They'd lost contact with the convoy yesterday afternoon, and if they didn't make contact within the hour, Admiral Stearns had given her permission to go out searching.

It took the heavy cruiser a moment to recognize the shape coming into Portsmouth harbor. A lone destroyer making full steam. She looked heavily damaged too. The destroyer's bridge was ruined, which was a sure sign of a knocked out communications.

A few minutes later, the destroyer came into the harbor, and barely paused to dismiss her rigging before taking off at a sprint onto dry land. Right into Exeter's waiting arms.

"Report, sailor." Exeter ordered.

The destroyer in her arms shook for a moment. "HMS In-Intrepid, reporting. Please d-don't make me go out t-there again."

"Hey, calm down, Intrepid. You're safe here." The cruiser said, her demeanour softening immediately. Exeter kneeled down in front of Intrepid to inspect her. The damage seemed mostly superficial except for the blown away bridge. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I-it c-came from now-where. It k-killed Eski, a-and Icarus." Intrepid shivered, and Exeter wrapped her in a warm blanket she had prepared for the incoming convoy .

"Can you tell me who did it?" Exeter asked softly. "It's alright if you can't right now."

"She did." Intrepid whispered, "T-the Graf Spee."

* * *

 **Uploader's Note:** You can thank the author of this sidestory, Lt. Darkhound, for giving me the greenlight, just as happened for Doggos.

As I said, _brace yourselves._


	60. The Hunt for Abyssal Graf Spee -II

**Hunt for the Abyssal Graf Spee**  
 **Part 2**

Exeter hated being late. Punctuality had always been one of her strong suits. But in this case, she had deemed it a worthy reason for her tardiness. Over the past week, she had been acting as poor Intrepid's caretaker. The destroyer had been traumatized by the Abyssal attack, and had latched onto Exeter as the first person she saw upon her return to Portsmouth.

Intrepid had been unwilling to stay with someone else for the duration of Exeter's upcoming mission, and with a lack of her I-class sisters, Exeter's next best idea had been Dreadnought. Though the battleship was more of a mother to the various capital ships of the RN than to everyone else, she had been willing to try and help the destroyer. Even then, Intrepid hadn't been willing to stay when Exeter left.

Now wasn't the time to reminisce, though. She was late to the mission's briefing. Exeter danced around sailors as she dashed towards the briefing room. Upon arriving at the designated room, the cruiser briefly checked her internal clock to discover that she was only a couple of minutes late.

A couple of heads turned as Exeter opened the door, and she winced under the harsh look that Admiral Stearns gave her.

"You're late." The admiral noted.

"Sorry sir, it won't happen again." Exeter apologized, quickly grabbing a seat between Renown and Norfolk.

The cruiser looked around the briefing room and was surprised at the number of ships present. Renown and Formidable were the only capital ships present, but a surprising amount of the RN's cruiser force at Portsmouth had gathered. Three heavy cruisers, and a half dozen light cruisers.

If she were a betting woman, Exeter would have put good money on this being about the Abyssal Graf Spee that Intrepid had encountered.

"Now that Exeter is here, I can begin. A week ago, a convoy loaded with food and oil supplies from America was sunk by a previously unknown surface raider. The only survivor was the destroyer HMS Intrepid. Intrepid reported that the raider was a Deutschland-class pocket battleship, presumed to be an Abyssal version of the Graf Spee. Yesterday, we lost contact with a second convoy on a similar path, presumed to be attacked by that same raider.

"Your mission is to find and sink the Abyssal Graf Spee." The admiral paused, letting the girls react. There was a murmur of surprise coming from the cluster of Leander-class girls, while Cumberland gave a heavy sigh into her hand. Renown let out a small gasp of surprise and she gave Stearns a questioning look, almost asking if this was the reason she had been pulled away from France.

Exeter just slumped down in her seat. She was not looking forward to the next couple of weeks, if it meant a renewal of her nightmares all over again. Feeling a hand on her back, Exeter looked over to see Norfolk giving her a soft smile. The County-class didn't say anything, but just rubbed soothing circles into Exeter's back.

After the varied reactions died down, Admiral Stearns continued his briefing. "With the Americans focused almost entirely on the Pacific right now, we cannot rely upon their assistance with heavy surface combatants. They can, however, provide their extensive reconnaissance airfleet to assist in searching for the Graf Spee. For the duration of this mission, you will all be operating under Force G. Cumberland will lead Ajax and Neptune as Cruiser Squadron 27. Exeter will lead Achilles and Leander as Cruiser Squadron 28. Norfolk, Orion, and Jamaica will be Cruiser Squadron 29, acting as an escort force for Renown and Formidable."

Clicking a button on a remote, Stearns brought a map of the North Atlantic up on the wall behind him, with the common trade routes illustrated as lines. "Squadrons 27 and 28 will be covering incoming and outgoing convoys from the Home Isles and North American coast respectively, while Renown's group will be operating out of Iceland as a fast reaction force. Do not engage the Graf Spee alone. If you encounter her, call for backup. Are there any questions?"

Leander raised a hand, and Stearns gestured to her. "Sir, where is Squadron 28 going to be based?"

Internally, Exeter hoped it was Halifax. The Canadians were still part of the Commonwealth and ther-

"You'll be based out of Norfolk." Stearns spoke, interrupting Exeter's internal plea. "You should have easier communication with the American recon force from there."

God dammit.

Exeter quickly muffled a groan of disappointment. Sure, she didn't have anything directly against the Yanks, but she had heard rumors from some of the girls on convoy duty. Smug blimp cats who lazily floated everywhere, excitable DEs (which shouldn't be surprising, destroyers and DEs everywhere were excitable), and annoyingly memetic aerial aircraft carriers. It was all eminently doable, but Exeter was glad she didn't have her boyfriend's disposition. He'd go crazy before the day was out if the rumors were to be believed.

A few more minutes passed, with the other girls asking clarifying questions about the minutiae of the mission. Eventually, everyone's answers had been answered to sufficient detail, and Stearns released the fleet. They were to head out on the mission as soon as possible, which meant that Exeter was going to have to convince Intrepid to stay with Dreadnought for the next few weeks. She wasn't sure the destroyer would be okay with that, given how difficult it had been to get her to stay with Dreadnought for the mission briefing…

Pondering this issue, Exeter was one of the last ones out the door. Admiral Stearns gave her a concerned look, but said nothing as the heavy cruiser shuffled out the door. Waiting outside the door was Achilles. The ginger light cruiser had her ever present smile on full beam.

"Hey Exeter!" Achilles' smile grew even wider as Exeter approached. "Isn't it awesome that we'll be able to work together again? I mean, we haven't really seen each other since River Plate, what with me going to New Zealand, and you sinking and all, so it's really nice to be able to see you again!"

Exeter just nodded softly as she set her course towards her dorm room. There'd be no stopping Achilles once she got going, so it was better to simply wait it out and hopefully escape into her dorm to pack the necessary clothes.

"Sorry to bring up your sinking and all, but it was something that happened. But that doesn't matter anymore because we're all back together now! Not only that, but we're back as cute girls! Isn't that weird though? It's just like one of those Japanese animes. We fought the war against them and won, obviously, and they somehow turned us into really cute girls!"

The heavy cruiser gave her excitable companion an aside glance as they walked, but said nothing.

"Have you seen any of those animes, Exeter? They're really awesome! I was watching this one that someone recommended to me while we were waiting for a convoy to load in America about people fighting in these really cool looking mechs that were suuuuuper tall and had weird faces on them. Not like faces where a normal person would have them, but like on their torso. That was kinda weird. And they fought with drills! Seems kinda dumb, because with drills you'd need a pretty direct hit to do any actual damage, but it was super cool anyway! There was this one scene where the super awesome big bro character died fighting this really cool bad guy, but then he came back to life! He was all like 'wham!' 'pow!' 'Can't a guy get a little sleep around here?' and then he totally kicked the bad guy's butt! And then they got this really cool ship mecha that couldn't actually float. How weird would that be? It'd be like Abyssals that got along with humans, or planes that could go underwater!"

Exeter let out a soft sigh as Achilles' ramblings spiraled further and further into a tangent.

"Actually, that last one doesn't sound weird, it sounds awesome! Imagine being able to fly around and then go underwater and look at all the pretty fishes! Oh, you have got to come visit New Zealand some day! I've heard that there's this really cool place to go diving off of Australia's coast where you can see tons of really cool fish! Diving to look at fish like that sounds awesome! Oh, wait, no that's not a good idea. We aren't subs, going underwater wouldn't be a good idea. Maybe we could go see an aquarium or something! Then we wouldn't have to go underwater to see the fish! Do you want to go see fishes sometime, Exeter? It'd be really cool!"

Achilles finally paused to take a breath, and looked expectantly at Exeter, awaiting an answer.

"I'm… indifferent to the idea right now. Perhaps when we're not rushing into a vital mission?" Exeter counter offered once she realized that Achilles was waiting for an answer.

"That's a really good point! But there's gotta be some other really cool things to do while we're in America! You know, when we aren't hunting down the evil amalgamation of what was probably the worst fight of either of our lives. Ooh! Maybe we could go visit the museums for some of the American battleships who haven't woken up yet! American battleships are just really cool, you know! Like, the KGVs are nice and all, but they're just so grumpy all the time. The Americans are pretty! Like, super pretty! Miss New Jersey had this really cute dress that she wore.

"Maybe if we have some time off we can go visit the Gulf of Mexico, and see the girls working out of New Orleans! Or we can see Salem if she's still around as a museum. I met Sally once, you know. She asked me to call her Sally, and said we were friends after we helped film a movie on River Plate. That was really cool! I was even playing myself!I wish you could have been there, though. That would have been nice. Sally played Graf Spee, and I was really scared for a bit there until I learned that we weren't actually fighting her. She's a super duper awesome heavy cruiser. She could probably have kicked all of our butts at River Plate, hands down. I still think you're cooler though. I mean, you jumped back into the fighting when things weren't looking great for me and Ajax. you probably saved our butts there, you know! Me and Ajax were all like 'Oh no, she's gonna kill us!' and you were like 'Not today, evildoer!' and rejoined the fighting with only one turret left!"

Exeter cupped her face in her hands for a moment before spotters noticed an inattentive sailor whom she had to quickly dance around.

"I bet you could totally kick this Abyssal Graf Spee's butt alone! I mean, me and Leander and pretty good, but you're awesome! We won't even need to call in Renown and Formidable's help! They're nice and all, but they won't be anywhere near close enough to help if we engage Graf. Even if we do find her, Graf will probably either slip away or sink by the time that the big guns show up. But you can take her alone, so with the three of us everything's gonna be fine! Super-duper even! We can go kick her butt, then do some cool things in America before coming home! But you'll want to come home as soon as possible, won't you…" Achilles' voice rapidly trailed off as she touched on an uncomfortable subject.

Exeter nearly sighed in relief as Achilles wound to a halt. They had reached her dorm room. "It's fine. Go get your bags ready, I'll come get you and Leander when I'm ready to go." The heavy cruiser said, looking at the door to her dorm room. It was slightly ajar, which was odd but not entirely unusual.

Intrepid should still be with Dreadnought though. Maybe Dreadnought had needed to grab something for the destroyer and forgotten to close the door all the way? Whatever it may be, Exeter didn't quite like it. She dreaded the prospect of having to be away from the destroyer who acted a lot like Exeter imagined a daughter would. Though she had only known Intrepid a week, the destroyer had latched onto her almost like a safety blanket, and Exeter didn't want to rip it away, no matter for how short a period.

"I… right! Packing my bags! See you later, Exeter!" Achilles said, her cheer returning full force. The excitable light cruiser ran off, leaving Exeter to her fate.

The heavy cruiser took a moment to breathe and clear her worried mind before pushing open the door and stepping inside her fairly spartan dorm. She flicked the light on, and was almost immediately tackled into a wall by a brown and blue form which wrapped a pair of small arms around her torso.

"...Intrepid?" Exeter asked the sobbing form.

* * *

 **Uploader's Note: Am I a traitor for playing the Graf Spee event in Azur Lane? I can't see these girls differently from AL...'except for Arizona, I like the one here just a _bit_ better.**


	61. The Hunt for Abyssal Graf Spee- III

**Hunt for the Abyssal Graf Spee**  
 **Part 3**

"... Intrepid?" Exeter asked the sobbing form. Her arms instinctively wrapped themselves around Intrepid. The destroyer just looked up, her foggy blue eyes meeting Exeter's before more tears welled up and she shoved her face back into Exeter's chest.

"What's wrong, Intrepid?" the heavy cruiser asked, lightly patting Intrepid's back as she sobbed. The destroyer's return while she was supposed to be with Dreadnought indicated a few different possibilities in Exeter's mind, and she couldn't help at all if she didn't know for certain.

"I- I don't wa-want you to g-go…" Intrepid choked out. "P-please don't go…"

Exeter's heart melted slightly as she heard Intrepid's pleading tone. "I'm right here Intrepid. I'm right here."

For a long minute they just stood there, Intrepid clinging dearly to Exeter, sobbing all the while. The cruiser's mind churned, trying to come up with a way to tell Intrepid that she had to go. Nothing satisfactory came to mind.

Once Intrepid's tears died down, Exeter carefully pried the destroyer's arms off of her and kneeled so that she and Intrepid were at eye level. Intrepid's foggy blue eyes, still bearing the damage from her ruined bridge, met Exeter's emerald eyes.

"I need to talk to you about something." Exeter began softly. "Would you like to sit on the bed while we talk?"

Intrepid nodded, her quivering lip showing just how close to tears she was. Together, the two shipgirls walked over to the bed, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room. The destroyer hopped up onto the bed and let her feet dangle slightly while Exeter pulled the chair from her desk over.

Facing Intrepid like this, Exeter wasn't sure this was the best way to handle the upcoming conversation. Doubts of how poorly the destroyer would handle this called out to her, but she silenced them. This was the course she had set, and she would sail it through calm seas or heavy storms.

"I was given a mission while you were off with Miss Dreadnought." Exeter began. Intrepid's face was near instantly a mix of surprise, shock, and terror. Not a good sign. "We're hunting down the Graf Spee. It'll only be a few-"

Exeter was cut off as Intrepid lunged forward off the bed and into her lap, arms clinging on in a tight hug that probably would have been a bit much for a regular human. Tears streaked down Intrepid's face as she quietly murmured "pleasedontgopleasedontgopleasedontgo."

"I have to go, Intrepid. It's my job to go out and hunt down dangerous Abyssals, so that destroyers like you can be safe. You know this."

"I don't wanna be a destroyer. I don't want you to go. Please don't go. I don't want to be alone."

"You won't be alone." Exeter said, trying her best to push love and affection though her hug. "You'll be with Miss Dreadnought, and I'll always just be a phone or video call away. If you need me, I'll be there."

"But I don't wanna be with Miss Dreadnought. I wanna be with you!"

Exeter winced at Intrepid's pleading cry, knowing full well that she was leaving the girl. But as much as she hated it, her duty was more important than the bond she had with the young destroyer. ~~~~~~~~~~  
Despite the need to leave as soon as possible, Exeter's departure wasn't until after night had fallen. After getting Intrepid to finally calm down and accept her leaving, Exeter had taken her to Dreadnought and gotten Intrepid to promise (pinky swear, just to be sure) to stay with the elder battleship. Even then, she stayed with the two until Intrepid had fallen asleep on the inflatable mattress in Dreadnought's room.

Leander and Achilles had been informed of this delay, and while Leander had cautioned against the delay in her usual serious fashion, Achilles understood and happily used the time delay to play games with her less hardassed sisters.

Though Exeter had one last delay before her departure…

"Where have you been, Ex? You haven't talked to me all week. No texts, no meetings, I didn't even get one of your silly old fashioned letters!" Kaidan asked, concern evident in his voice.

"They're not silly!"

"You write them on parchment and seal them with wax. That's pretty silly if you ask me!"

"Only because a rotten American like yourself doesn't know quality when you've got it slapping you in the face!"

Kaidan feigned hurt, dramatically putting his hand over his heart and leaning back slightly. "How could you wound me so! My fair Lady Exeter, youngest scion of the name of York, your words hurt me on a level deeper than could possibly be imagined!"

His dramatics broke the scowl off Exeter's face and she laughed. Waiting on the pier, Achilles whooped and applauded while Leander tapped her foot impatiently.

"But you're dodging my question. Where have you been this past week? What happened?" Kaidan asked again.

"Intrepid happened. I can't tell you all of the details, but she came back to port badly injured and scared. Without any sisters to keep an eye on her, she latched onto me, and I've been acting as her mother. I rather enjoy it too, though I hate to leave her for my mission."

"So you haven't been talking with me because being a mother to a… destroyer? Because being a mother to a destroyer has taken up literally all of your time? Well that just seals the deal. I don't want to be a parent any time soon."

"Why not? You'd make a great father! Your sense of humor is certainly ready for it."

"Ex, I'm rubbish with children." He paused, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great, you Brits are rubbing off on me again. Anyway, I worked at a summer camp for two summers before the war started. Not only am I bad at leading and/or controlling them, they drive me insane!"

"You aren't that bad, Kaidan. I'm sure you would do wonderfully. I'll even introduce you to Intrepid when I come back."

"We'll talk about it when you come back." Kaidan pulled Exeter into a tight hug. "Now go, stay safe, and kill some Abyssals for me. I love you, Exeter."

"I love you too, Kaidan." Exeter replied, wrapping her arms around her boyfriend before they released each other. The heavy cruiser smiled softly before about-facing and dashing off to the water.

Leander and Achilles were waiting at the water's edge, and followed Exeter out to sea.

"Was that really necessary, Exeter?" Leander asked.

"Of course it was. It may very well be the last time we ever see each other again." Exeter replied, picking up speed as the trio entered the English Channel. 


	62. Unsung, Unbent, Unbroken Part Two

" _It is my great desire to reform my subjects, and yet I am ashamed to confess that I am unable to reform myself"-Peter The Great_

 _Two years...she lay there in the water...two full years. Her eyes dead to the world as the snow fell upon her body and the ice crawled up against her eyelids, the stench of death permeating the city she called home. Two years...sitting...waiting...hoping...for someone to come, someone to help, to lift the siege the city faced...or at the very least for the fascist bastards to put her out of her misery. But it never came, neither the relief nor the offer of surrender. She could feel tears well up in her eyes, or perhaps it was simply her bulkhead leaking from neglect? It didn't matter now. On her side, she could see her comrades there...sitting, laying down, and waiting to die...no food...no ordinance...no hope._

 _She reached out to Petropavlovsk...her sister...her comrade...she wanted to call out her name, but she was too weak to even do that. Even if she could, it wouldn't matter, Petro was dead...sunk by those damn fascists, and in the ice, her body refused to completely rest beneath the waves._

 _She looked down at the gaping wounds in her side, haphazardly patched and wrought together...parts missing and unable to be properly healed, the rust and disease filling her senses._

 _She didn't even have the energy to feel the pain anymore...she felt nothing...the ice numbed any feeling of warmth or pain she could possibly have felt. The biting winds of the harshest winter in the world eating away at her, sapping any energy and will she might have once had._

 _"Komrades...the plan failed...the relief convoy sunk through the Ice on the lake...the Fascists bombed it to hell with their aircraft!"_

 _She could hear the captain speak to the last few remaining men as they sat on the bow of the ship, their forms skinny and skeletal, malnourished just as the ship they stood on._

 _"I'm afraid...no supplies will be coming...the Red Army is weeks away...they...they will not reach us in time, and the Fascists are determined to see it out to the end..."_

 _Discontent, pain, sorrow, despair, all of these feelings settled in on the crew as the sat down solemnly. their chairs frozen to the deck of the ship, sapped of what remaining will they had as men._

 _"But...I did find this," Said the Captain as he pulled out a small violin case, opening it up to reveal a small wooden instrument in near pristine conditions. "Heh, I was a musician before I joined up you know? I haven't played in years but...but...if this is to be our last night...I want to play...one last time...for you, my comrades...for The Revolution, our brave brave warship...both of you...who risked your lives so that others may live...and finally for myself...so that I can remember...at the very least...there is beauty in death..."_

 _With that the Captain began to play a somber tune on his violin, his fingers sliding the bow across the strings like a master in spite of the cold, in spite of the starvation, in spite of everything._

 _It was a nice sound, Gangut thought as she laid down the last of her thoughts, her body suddenly feeling warm...like she didn't care about death anymore. In fact, she could feel the reaper's hand on her shoulder already, but it was not scary, it was sad, but not scary. Warmth...release...the promise of something better than the frozen hell they currently inhabited. No other sound was present, nothing in her mind but the beautiful strings of that violin._

 _The last requiem for the souls of the departed from the hundreds of thousands in the streets of the City they'd sworn to protect till the end. And which they did...for so long. And it seemed that finally, the end was near, the curtain was closing._

 _Gangut wanted to reach out to her sister's body, and the other destroyers who sat there with them, waiting to die...waiting for that sweet release from the world._

 _She could feel her conscious ebb and weave as the dream began to fade to black, the feeling of cold enveloping her again as all faded from view...and only the last vestiges of the captain's violin permeated the darkness...all that remained and all that ever was, that sweet stringed instrument singing her requiem and summoning god to take his children from the suffering and the despair._

 _To Save them from what remained of Leningrad._

But it was not to be her end...It was almost...but, in the end, they would find what remained of her crew. And they would replace those who had been lost...they always did. But that thought would be cemented in her mind forever.

"( _Whew_ ,)" Whispered Tashkent to herself as her fellow destroyers finished laying out the mines they'd created. Despite their unsuspecting nature, the weapon proved to be especially effective in the environment they found themselves in. The fog was so thick navigation by sight was made nearly impossible this far in. They'd been expressly forbidden to use radar in their operations (Which made hand signals their only form of communicating) because the enemy would be able to track if they were being scanned. It was a hard learned lesson for Tashkent in particular who'd been hit by an unsuspecting salvo.

There was a powerful foe lurking in this fog, and while the fog hindered their operations, it also presented them with a unique opportunity for their hit-and-run tactics. Without proper sight, the enemy would use their instruments and by extension, it would allow them to attack and disappear.

"( _That makes twenty,_ )" She told herself as she turned to try and locate her fellow destroyers. She could make out Gnevny's shape in the fog not far away, and Molotov's silhouette a little further off still. But some of the others she'd assumed were a bit too far away for them to make out. It was dangerous to get too spread out in this unnatural fog, and the further they went, the harder it became to make it work.

Moving as slow as she could, she crept up to where Gnevny was. Gnevny was a bit smaller compared to the other girls, but the girl had the illusion of being much rounder due to the heavy layers she wore. Unlike her sisters she liked to wear mittens on her hands and it affected her dexterity as she struggled to place the mine to its proper location with her hands unable to find a good gripping point.

"( _Psst, Gnevny,_ )" Whispered Tashkent from behind the girl.

"( _Meep!_ )" The smaller destroyer nearly leapt out of her thick coat as the voice came suddenly behind her. With her ushanka ear flaps down, it made hearing things sometimes hard for the nameship of the Gnevney class destroyers. (that and unlike some of her more advanced counterparts she lacked radar of her own). "( _Tashy! Don't scare me like that!_ )"

"( _Shh!_ )" Said Tashkent pressing her finger to her lips and moving around the timid destroyer, helping her move the mine to its proper place. The little destroyer gave an embarrassed groan which Tashkent found to be extraordinarily cute. Gnevny had never been comfortable around mines, but she agreed to the job nonetheless. Tashkent kept it to herself, but felt Gnevny's admiration of Gangut to be one of those reasons.

"(You know I can do it myself,)" Said Gnevny not meeting Tashkent's eyes, still huffing over the larger destroyer's 'sneak attack'.

"(I know, I know,)" Said Tashkent as she very gently nudged Gnevny away from their position and approached Molotov. Gnevney had always been nervous around Molotov due to the horrible scarring the poor girl had endured, but Tashkent knew that despite the girl's rough exterior, she was a big softie when it came to the smaller ships. She also was among the few who knew exactly why it was Molotov was so badly scarred, and if many more knew they probably would think twice before making jokes about it.

Twas a lesson poor Minsk had learned the hard way.

"(You finished laying out your fields?)" Asked Molotov through her bandages.

"(Dah, Tovarisch Molotov,)" Said Tashkent with an informal salute

"(one hundred meters apart?)" She pressed,

"(Yep!)" Came Tashkent's damnably cheery reply.

"(Alright, now then,)" Molotov looked over her shoulder and made several exaggerated arm signals to the other silhouettes in the fog. It took a few tries but eventually, the two saw the motion and motioned to each other to join the two.

Leningrad was the first to arrive, she was a little taller than Gnevny, but still shorter than Tashkent, who was almost as tall as Molotov. Her platinum hair was neatly packed into a tight bun beneath a rough looking newsboy cap. She stuffed her arms into the pockets of her matted trench coat as she approached to keep the harsh winter winds from numbing them completely.

Her sister Minsk was almost identical to Leningrad except instead of a bun, she preferred a ponytail, and she had glasses.

It was a hard reality when Molotov took the job of supervising these two that they would inevitably be caught up in each other's shenanigans. For while Gangut, Kirov, and Gnevny may have had experience working with these two, Tashkent and Molotov herself were not, so the two would often find themselves at the head of their 'switcharoo' pranks.

Thankfully though, they reserved those for when they weren't on missions.

"(Alright children,)" Said the cruiser, bringing up the 'Map' they'd written themselves for their operations and a pencil. "(We've placed mines, here, here, and here)"

She marked the clusters where they'd planted, replaced, and where mines had detonated. It was essential for them to have a proper map for navigating the fields lest they fall victims to their own trap.

The sheer complexity of the minefield was something of a marvel to the cruiser, but she had to admit, Kirov knew what she was doing when designing it. For it meant that only a person with the map itself could safely navigate it given the fog that mired the coast for months now. With the Ice ever-shifting, it made it doubly treacherous. Night travel through the field was nigh impossible, even for Abyssals with floodlights and other night equipment.

And what couldn't be mined and salvaged? They'd ambush. But right now their objective was complete, so they would need to take the long route back through the fields they created and home.

That was the tricky part.

"(If we move south, here, and turn due west twenty degrees, we will be able to hit the entrance without any accidentals)" She gave a satisfied nod before motioning for the rest to follow.

It was then that the noise pierced the fog. A horrible haunting shriek, a wail that would bring chills even to the peoples of this place. There was a sharp boom in the distance, followed by what sounded like the wail of an infant. But it was unnatural, too high pitched to be an actual human infant.

"(What the hell?)" Asked Minsk as she instinctively reached out for her twin sister

"(Was that?)" Finished Leningrad for her twin.

"(Move..now...quietly,)" Whispered Molotov, looking off into the distance where the explosion and scream had originated. This was not a good sign, she knew that too well. They would need to retreat to safety for now.

With what could be regarded as a cautious speed-walk, she took the lead of their formation, ensuring that they never left visual distance lest they become separated in the fog. She didn't even spare a look over her shoulder as a second detonation sounded again far in the distance, followed by another chilling wail.

Gangut's eyes snapped open suddenly to the sound of the cabin door slamming shut. The brief action was enough to seemingly steal all the warmth that had built up in the shack. Into it stepped a bundled up mess of a woman so covered in layers of thick clothing it was a wonder she could even be made out as a woman at all.

Pulling down her facemask she threw off her trapper hat revealing a mess of brown hair tied into twin braids. She wore a similar greatcoat to her sister, but most unlike Molotov, she lacked the massive scar tissue that seemed to dominate her sister's body.

With a huff, the girl threw down a braid of dead rabbits and other game she'd managed to scrape about. It went without saying that, as the resident tactician of their fleet, her duties also extended to other matters.

"( _You've been busy,_ )" Acknowledged Gangut rising from her chair, cursing the fact she'd slept in so long. She wondered though, how was it Kirov had managed to acquire so much over this day?

"( _I had to be,_ )" Said Kirov rather pointedly, not even sparing a look in Gangut's direction as she began the act of skinning the critters. She'd rather get this part done before the little ones got back, as Gnevney in particular had a weakness for 'cute little rabbits'. "( _We'll have to stew it without vegetables._ )"

"( _This is a lot more than usual,_ )" Said Gangut curiously as her suspicions grew about how exactly Kirov had managed to pull home so much food this particular day. All in all she didn't look nearly as exhausted as she should have.

"( _I ran into another hunter,_ )" She admitted, throwing off her gloves and wrenching the small animal's guts out. She strode over to the penchka and carefully fed them into the fire, adding much needed heat to the house. "( _And he offered me some of what he caught,_ )"

"( _Quite generous,_ )" Said Gangut, she was surprised that anyone would even be around in this state forsaken nowhere.

"( _Anyway, that isn't what matters_ ,)" Said Kirov making eye contact with Gangut for the first time since she'd walked in. The obvious frustration due to the fact that neither of them had eaten for days. "( _The rest of the fleet should be approaching the delta in a few hours, and we need you strong enough to break up that ice, so You. Are. Going. To. Eat._ )"

The proud warship gave a grumble at her subordinate's reaction to Gangut's obstinate attitude about the matter. It was one of the reasons the two always seemed to butt heads despite being on the same side. She knew that overall, Kirov was right about it, she'd made the decision to send them out, she'd have to be the one to help them get back.

"( _Fine Tovarisch,_ )" Said Gangut taking off her hat and helping the cruiser skin the animals and gut them. "( _But just so you know?_ )"

"( _Don't you dare say it…_ )" Said the brunette threateningly holding up her knife, an evil smirk in place. "( _We're about one thousand kilometers from the nearest settlement in this far flung siberian shithole and I don't have time to worry about how 'Good' it tastes, it's food, and you are going to eat it…_ )"

"( _Alright, fine!_ )" Gangut grimaced at the thought, but remained silent for a long while. When Kirov moved to place the butchered meat into the post, Gangut made her move. "( _But your cooking is still shit, Komrade Kirov_ )"


	63. Chapter 42: A Fleet of Fog

Hiei leaned back against the mooring post and cast her gaze out over the sea. The night sky was clear and the moon and stars shone brightly against the dark waters.

It was, in her perfectly objective opinion, a beautiful night.

The battered missile destroyers tied off nearby to await repairs did not in any way detract from the scenery. In a way, they added to it. Because beaten and worn as they were, those steel girls had fought tooth and nail to bring their crews home. There was a beauty in that defiance and unyielding spirit. That great middle finger to the wretched powers that tried to kill them and subject their charges to horror and oblivion.

A gentle breeze ruffled her hair as she turned her attention down towards the small collection of items she'd brought with her on this little nighttime venture.

"I know you're not a fan of booze, but you're more than welcome to a drink if you want." Hiei stated with a grin. She set about pouring out two cups of sake from the bottle she'd procured at the PX. It wasn't anything fancy, but it would do.

A sip later had her wishing she'd tried a bit harder to get something more fancy in the end. Or gotten some beer. It was a bit more difficult to go wrong there. And if you did, it was at least cheaper.

"Blegh." It went down more like torpedo juice than anything resembling sake and Hiei knew her face was something unpleasant at the moment.

"Oh, har har har. Like you're any better."

She set down her cup with a grumble. Sure, she hadn't been expecting much from the Japanese equivalent of 'two-buck-chuck' as John would put it. But this was beyond bad. Bad enough she'd be willing to caution her worst enemy about it. Maybe. She'd have to see what mood she was in if the time ever came.

"Haa..." she let out a loud sigh and relaxed, looking back up at the sky.

"You're really missing out you know... And I'm still super pissed. How? Just _how_ do you go out like that? So easily and without a single word?" Hiei growled out, feelings of ire replacing those of geniality.

She narrowed her eyes.

"You know it broke him. You know if it wasn't for Jane. Wasn't for me. He'd be dead right now. I don't think he'd have killed himself, not outright. No." Hiei clenched her fist so hard that the sound of steel grinding and moaning in protest began to fill the pier. "No, he'd have worked himself to death. Hell, that's what he was doing already when Blood Week hit."

"At least raising Jane meant he had to be human enough to be her father. And he can't be her father if he's a broken machine in a coffin." She reached out for the two other items laying next to the now abandoned bottle of sake and empty cups; a carton of cigarettes and a gold plated lighter. "She kept him going long enough for me to get there in time to kick his ass back into gear. But she's just a kid. And the more self sufficient she got, the less she needed her father, the less of a grip he'd have on the brakes going for that cliff. Hell, she's not even ten and she's already more responsible than some adults."

Hiei's anger faded as she sighed.

Her silence stretched on as she let herself cool down. She hated getting so angry like this. It hurt. It really did. Kongou's and anger did not mix well. Real, honest anger that is.

"Yeah. Yeah I know..." She flipped open the lighter and toyed with the cam. Never giving it enough of a push to send up sparks. "You didn't have a choice."

She finally gave the cam a solid push and the lighter sent up sparks that blossomed into a steady flame.

"Doesn't make me any less angry about it. Your choice or not. It did a lot of damage."

The flame flickered in the breeze, but refused to dim.

Hiei manhandled the carton of smokes with her free hand until one of the sticks came free. She pulled it free with her teeth and tossed the container to the concrete carelessly. She'd probably toss the rest into a drawer or someplace out of the way and forget about them when she got home. It wasn't like she was going to turn into Vestal or anything. The woman was never lacking for something burning to chew on.

John always had one on the day of Langley's death. Only one and only then. If it hadn't been for his first wife's odd tradition of doing the same on the death day of her father, he probably wouldn't have ever touched the things. He hated them with a passion after all.

It wasn't that day, but Hiei had missed the last visit to the grave. So she had opted to make up for it tonight. For better or worse.

"You gave him the weirdest habits."

She chuckled as she brought the lighter to the end of the cheap cigarette and set it alight. After it caught, she snapped the lighter shut with a pleasing clink and stowed it away in her pocket.

"Yes, I, Hiei, just said that."

One breath later and half the stick turned to ash.

"You couldn't have burned incense or something? It's a lot more reverent. And it smells better." She loosed the smoke in one long exhale, forcing the grey cloud to billow out like dragon's fire.

Hiei leaned forward and ran a hand through her hair.

"Yeah, we did make a lot of memories thanks to you. Would have been nicer if you'd been there though~"

A mirthful snicker echoed out.

"You know exactly what I'm implying. Mutsu's not the only one who likes to tease and torment."

The cigarette continued its slow burn as the moon lazily gazed down.

"What? Of course I'm happy for them. His happiness is my happiness. His love is my love. And mine is his. We both know this. And so does Mutsu." Hiei stated as if it were the most painfully obvious thing in the world. "It was her idea for me to give him that kiss at the reception. I was gonna wait until after, but she said it would be better during and that waiting was a poor show of spirit."

She laughed.

"One-hundred percent her idea. I swear upon my honor as the Emperor's Ship and as a Kongou-class battleship." She really shouldn't have been surprised when she thought about it. Mutsu was incredibly sharp. Far more so than anyone realized. It wouldn't have surprised her if she had the majority of it pieced together long before John and herself had put everything out in the open for her. "I'm still wondering what her endgame is with that. The tabloids had a field day with it though. And I'd put money SECNAV has a copy of it framed somewhere."

She reduced the remainder of the cigarette to ruins and blew out another cloud to match the first. The smoldering butt was crushed between her fingers and set aside. A glance at her ash covered hands made her grimace.

"...That wasn't the smartest idea." Hiei mumbled as she brushed her hands off.

"Oh, but you should have seen his face right after I came up for air!" she exclaimed right after with a laugh. "My only regret is that no one had a good camera angle on him right then and there. It would have been the perfect shot."

That had been a wonderfully hilarious and treasured moment.

Her smile dimmed into a yawn as she felt herself unable to resist the need to stretch. Wow, she'd been out here for a while.

"Well, it's been... a thing." She stood up and dusted herself off. There had been too many emotions running around to really say if she'd had fun or not. But it hadn't been a _bad_ evening. Not at all. "Time to get home and get some sleep. My dear old friend is on her way over and we need to get the welcome party all ready. Last time didn't go so well, you know."

Hiei rolled her shoulder. Oh, there would be a reckoning.

"Oops. Can't forget this stuff." She gathered up the cups, empty bottle, and carton from where they lay on the concrete. The lighter's comforting weight still rested firmly in her pocket.

"See you later. I'll give everyone your love." She turned with a wave and began making her way home.

The pleasant breeze broke out into a brief, but heavy gust, tousling her hair into a rather unpleasant mess adorned with a few errant leaves.

Hiei rolled her eyes and blew a few strands out of her eyes.

"Bloody carriers."

* * *

With a single twitch of her twin rudders battleship Missouri fell into formation beside her elder sister. The two Iowas made for the Admiral's office at a brisk walk that would've been perilously close to a flat-out sprint for anyone without the shockingly long legs typical of the class.

"The fuck did you do?" snapped Jersey. The black dragon didn't bother even glancing at Mo's direction, and even an angry wave of her hand was unnecessary. The sisters had been blood long enough that such overt depictions of sisterly rage were unnecessary.

"The fuck you mean?" countered Missouri. The two Iowas ducked under a doorframe and picked up the pace a little. The Admiral's message had been sparse on details but heavy on tense urgency.

"I've been on my best fucking behavior," said the older battleship. "Putting out fires set by an over-caffeinated poi. This—" she waved generally at nothing in particular—"is not my fault."

"What if it's Wisky?" opined Mo.

"What if it's _Wisky_?" cooed back Jersey in a mocking imitation of her sister's rumbling contralto that any third-party observer would have a hard time distinguishing from her own.

"Okay, good point." Mo scratched at her temple. "But it can't be me. All I've done is nap with 'Laska."

"Motherfucker," Jersey spat under her breath. The muscles in her thighs tensed as her whole body coiled for a heartbeat.

"What?" asked Mo.

"If it's not me," said Jersey, "and it's not Wisky, and it's not you… then the Admiral's upset about something other than just an Iowa playing grab-ass. Something real."

"Mother _fucker_ ," cursed Mo. "I hope it was you."

"Yeah," Jersey tugged her vest smooth and ducked into the Admiral's office. "Me too, sis."

The room was dimmed to make Admiral Williams' projected Visage at least a little more visible on the makeshift screen. Wisky was already in attendance, and under normal circumstances the glare coming off the half-spheres of brilliant white skin would've earned no end of Ire from both her elder sisters.

But the look on Williams' face made it clear that this was no time for sisterly sniping.

"Sir," Jersey stiffened. Beside her, Mo echoed the motion, as did Wisky.

 _"Commanders,"_ Williams wore a weary smile. _"God, it's good to see the three of you."_

"Thank you, sir," said Mo. "It's good to be back."

 _"And just in time,"_ said Williams. _"We've picked up a strike force heading for Sasebo. A number of fast battleships lead by the Tosa princess."_

"Oh, Arizona's gonna be pissed," said Mo.

 _"Unfortunately, that's just the problem."_ Williams scowled. _"The bulk of Richardson's fleet is either too slow to force an engagement, too lightly armored to survive, or on maternity leave. Yamato has the speed and armor, but without a screen—"_

"They'd take her apart," Jersey scowled. "Yeah. Anything else?"

Williams shook his head. _"Our intel is very sketchy at the moment, but I'm sending a fast taskforce over before this gets any worse. I don't want her fleet turned back, I want it destroyed and her base turned to rubble, understood?"_

"Yes sir," said all three Iowas in concert.

 _"With the battle line's return, we should be able to hold Pearl without much problem. I want you girls out there doing what you do best."_

Jersey ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth. Just as she'd suspected, they'd all turned razor sharp. "It'd be a pleasure, sir."

* * *

"Excuse me, Lieutenant?" The tall, elegant figure of battleship Hood stopped by Lieutenant Green's desk with a steaming mug of tea in hand. Only today, like the past several weeks, she was anything but elegant.

Her uniform was rumpled and her hair had more split ends than actual hair. Her skin was pale and dark bags hug from her lidded gaze. She still hadn't been sleeping much. The poor girl looked exhausted. More then that, she looked terrified. "I hope I'm not bothering you."

"What? No!" Green almost bolted to his feet. Hood was… Hood was delicate. More delicate than any battleship—save maybe for the Iowas if the stories he'd heard were accurate. But she was still a battleship. The stubborn need to shrug off or ignore her troubles was written into the very steel of her hull. "What can I do for you."

"I was wondering," Hood took a long sip from her mug and trailed off. "She's dead, isn't she?"

"Bismark?"

Hood opened her mouth, but no sound came out. A moment later she closed it and just nodded.

"Yes, she's dead," said Green. "Yanks found her off Hawaii. Pounced in the night and pounded her to scrap."

"You're certain?" asked Hood. They way she asked it… it almost sounded like she was praying the answer was no. "Certain she's dead?"

"I can pull up the report." Green typed away on his computer. "Give you a printout if you want."

"I'd… I'd like that," said Hood. "I think."

"Um…" Green leaned back in his chair, not sure where to start. "Hood, I'm sorry if this is… they haven't stopped, have they?"

Hood shook her head. "It's every time I close my bloody eyes now." The battleship scowled. "That bloody battleship coming at me through the fog."

* * *

 **Uploader's Note:** Poor Hood, what will this mean in the future? (Think of how the Kancolle movie went, on how interchangeable the shipgirls and Abyssals are). All conjecture, of course! Hmm, is it significant that Jersey's teeth get sharp when she's angry?

 _ ***coughcoughNaruto-and-every-other-shounen-demon-coughcough***_

Or maybe it's just because she's the "Black Dragon"?

The title made me want to keep working on my co-written ARP story as well, even though it's not quite in the first of the rotation...

Anyways, sorry for the break in updates. Just to let you know, the current story is one of the last threadmarks on the "Belated Battleships 2" page of SpaceBattles, and is, imaginatively, on "Belated Battleships 3: The Third One"!

Intend to get in more omake as well, but I'm already pushing it by posting this chapter at work, ahahah!

Alright, enough of my blathering.

Caboose Out


	64. Chapter 43: The Harmless Derp

"Hey," battleship New Jersey pulled into tight formation with her sisters and lowered her voice until it was just barely audible over the roar of waves crashing across the battleships' collective bows. "So," she coughed and glanced over her shoulder at the snowy-haired large cruiser taking up the flank. "Is it just me or is she like… fucking impossible to read."

"It's not just you," said Wisky. The littlest Iowa shrugged and adjusted the webbing-covered plate carrier tightly wrapped around her class-leading bunkerage. "It's like talking to a doll, she just… doesn't emote."

"I don't think she knows how," said Mo. The tanned warship ran a half-gloved hand through her bundled dreadlocks. "At least not really. She _is_ only three years old."

"Not even," corrected Wisky. "Two years, eight months exactly."

"Fuck you," muttered the elder two Iowas.

"Still," Jersey shrugged. "Mo's got a point. Ship that young… she's got a lot to learn about being a _ship_ , let alone a woman." She bit her lip and planted her hands on her hips. "Kinda… paints her relationship with Cameron in a new light, don't it?"

"Oh please," Mo shook her head. "Those two are the most wholesome couple to ever wholesome."

"We should be as lucky," added Wisky dreamily.

"Guess you got a point," admitted Jersey.

"Mmm…" Mo nodded with a smug smile. "That's assuming she's not doing it on purpose."

"The fuck?" grunted Jersey.

"Alaska," said Mo. "Who knows, maybe she _likes_ having people dismiss her as a harmless derp."

Jersey froze, and a shiver of horror ran down her keel. "Wisky, cover your ears!"

"Too late, I heard everything," teased Wisky, earning herself a slap on the back of the head from both her sisters.

"Anyway," Jersey painfully dragged herself back on topic. "Is it just me, or has she been moping ever since we weighed anchor?"

The three sisters looked at each other for a moment, then back at Alaska.

"Yeah," said Mo.

"At least," said Wisky.

"It's her boyfriend," said Mo. The chocolatest Iowa pulled her mirrored crimson shades off and polished the lenses on the ragged hem of her tank top. "She misses him something fierce. Think knowing she'd see him after the op was the only think keeping her going."

"Fuck." Jersey cursed. "Poor thing."

"Yeah," said Mo.

Unlike her elder sisters, Wisky said nothing. Instead the littlest Iowa pulled back on her turbines just a little and veered off course to link up with Alaska. She steamed through the large cruiser's wake and pulled up off her other side.

"Hey, kiddo."

"Hello." Alaska's tone was musical and sweet, but if there was any emotion in it it was beyond unreadable.

"I know this isn't what you thought was gonna happen."

Alaska shrugged. "It's okay."

"You're not happy, are you?"

Alaska shook her head. "It's what the navy needs."

"But," Wisky repeated, slower this time. "You're not happy."

Alaska held the battleship's gaze for a long time, then finally shook her head. "No."

"Boyfriend?"

Alaska nodded wordlessly.

"Look…" Wisky stuffed her hands into the pockets of her shorts. "I've got a _lot_ of people who owe me favors. I could get Cameron on a jet, have him meet us there in Sasebo if he's up for it." She shrugged. "I know it's not the honeymoon you've got planned, but…"

"You'd do that?" asked Alaska, the awe in her voice barely audible. "F-for me?"

"'course I would, kiddo" said Wisky. "It's the least I could do."

For several minutes, Alaska was silent. Then her eyes narrowed and her cheeks squished into a quiet and understated, but nevertheless unmistakable smile. "Thank you. I'd like that."

There was nothing understated about the Iowa's smile. "I'll make the call."

—|—|—

Fleet submarine Albacore was starving. Back during the war, that wouldn't have bothered her. Hunger was a constant companion back then, and she'd learned to accept a constant nagging pang in her middle as a simple fact of life. It was like the salt burning against her skin or the chill of frigid seawater deep below the surface.

Submarine didn't realize they were hungry like fish didn't realize they were wet. That was before she'd returned. Before Admiral Richardson and his lovely daughter had stuffed her full of sandwiches at every opportunity. After filling her stomach for once in her life, it was hard to go back to the life of a prowling hunter.

Albie winced as another pang twisted her stomach into knots. She was ravenously hungry, and her lungs were starting to burn. She twisted her wrist, glaring at the luminous numerals only faintly visible through the murky depths. She'd been holding her breath for going on a day and a half now. It was taking conscious effort to keep her mouth closed against the ocean.

She should have another ten hours at least before she had to surface. But the depth charging she'd narrowly avoided must've literally knocked some wind out of her. Not to mention punching a gash in her side that was _still_ leeching blood and diesel into the ocean. She'd had to shoo away a few curious sharks already, and every stroke she took reminded her of the gash torn into her sinewy muscle.

But she didn't dare surface. Not yet. She was too far afield. The hammering of her own heartbeat in her ears was still mixed with the distant but all-to-close sounds of churning screws and pinging sonar. As badly as she wanted to breath, she wanted to live even more.

She bit down on her cheeks, forcing herself to focus on the pain instead of the fire kindling in her depleted lungs. She swam on, her motors humming with all their might as her batteries rapidly depleted. On and on she swam, until finally she had no choice.

She broke for the surface as quickly as she dared and took a greedy gasp of the chilly early-winter air. It was cold and bitter and tasted like salt and seafowl, but for the hungry submarine it was the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted. It was so good she almost forgot the gnawing hunger in her belly as she filled her lungs with breath after breath.

Her lookouts confirmed she was alone, at least for the time being. She could see shoreline ahead. It was Japan, at least she was fairly sure it was Japan. She couldn't have drifted that far off course, but she didn't have the slightest clue _where_ in Japan she was.

That didn't matter right now. Japan was—as strange as it was to say—friendly territory. That meant a warm bed, a bath, and maybe even something to eat.

Albie swam for the shore. She dismissed her rigging as she flopped onto the beach, her lithe body streaked with blood from the gash on her hip.

"Fuck," she breathed, nervously picking at the punched-in metal around her wound. Depth-charge blows weren't like the brutal gashes surface ships suffered. But they still hurt like hell.

Albie used a bit of driftwood to haul herself to her feet, then gingerly tested her wounded leg. It hurt like hell to stand on, but at least she could stand. A few more steps confirmed she could walk, and a few more after that promised that she _could_ run on it if she had to.

Her immediate damage taken care of, her stomach re-asserted its pressing need for provisions. She bit her lip to muffle a moan of hunger and made her way further inland. There was a house sitting on a bluff. The lights were off, but the place at least looked well maintained.

With one hand pressed against her side, Albie made her way to the door. Picking the lock took all of ten seconds, even with fingers still shaking from cold and blood loss. It only took her a little longer to find the kitchen, and with it the pantry.

Albie wasn't quite sure _what_ she found inside—other than a niggling worry that one item was a cooking utensil and not exactly "food" as such. But that didn't stop her from eating everything her hands could find until her stomach finally stopped complaining.

With her immediate needs taken care of, she took a moment to evaluate the damage she'd suffered. Her hip had stopped bleeding, at least. Now that she was out of the water her compromised pressure hull wasn't nearly so pressing. She just… she needed to sleep. She'd effect proper repairs in the morning, but she was just so tired.

The submarine yawned and padded barefoot through the house. There had to be a bed around here somewhere.


	65. Chapter 44: That's no space station

Hiro Adachi was running late. The thought jolted him from what had been a very comfortable haze lingering between the depths of sleep and full consciousness. He'd been aware that his alarm was ringing, but his bed was just so warm and comfortable that it hadn't registered until just now. Normally it wasn't that warm, not this late in the year. But something was different. He almost felt like he was being cuddled by a space heater.

But before he could dwell on that thought, the urgent chime of his alarm thrust its way back into his mind. Right, late. Very very late. He threw the covers off and bolted down the stairs. If he got some toast going now, he should have just enough time to catch a quick shower. If he timed it right the toast would just be popping up when he ran down to catch the bus. It'd be tight, but he could do it.

When he reached the kitchen, he discovered a slight problem with his plan. Someone had eaten all the bread. And most of the peanut butter. And what looked like half a carton of eggs. And he did mean half a _carton_. There were ragged bite marks left on the chewed-up half of cardboard that remained. That was… weird. But he was running too far behind schedule to worry about it right now.

Scrambling frantically, he found an unopened bag of cereal sitting in the chewed-up remnants of the box it came in. He tore open the plastic and dumped a helping into a bowl with just enough milk to let him wolf it down like a starving… well… wolf. He glanced at the clock hanging over the sink. He should have just enough time to shower if he rushed.

Tearing off his shirt as he ran, Hiro bolted back up the stairs. He shouldered through the door, hopping on one leg as he tried to get his pants off. And that's when he realized something odd. The room was filled with steam and the sound of water pattering against hard tile and soft flesh.

"What?" he muttered, tilting his head as his sleep-addled mind slowly caught up to what was going on.

Draped over the towel rack was a dark gray racing swimsuit with lighter colored accent panels and a wicked-looking gash over the hip. Inside the shower cubicle was the swimsuit's likely owner, a girl with spiky blond hair naked as the day she was born.

Her belly had a noticeable bulge to it, she had to be the one who'd gorged herself on seemingly everything in his pantry. But the rest of her… her body was lithe and sinewy, but visibly underfed. Her skin was scarred with salt, and she was so skinny he could see every one of her ribs. When she turned to wash, he saw a horrible looking bruise right over the bone of her hip.

"Hey," she said, pointing tiny, beady eyes at him like she was sizing him up. If she was at all mad that he'd stared at her—out of surprise, not lust, he'd like it known—she wasn't showing it.

"Y-you!" Hiro pointed at her stomach and tried not to think about her very exposed figure. Underfed or not, the girl _was_ as shapely as she was naked, and her subdued bustline was a welcome change of pace from the overwhelming thickness that'd infested the media recently.

"Me!" Echoed the girl. She shut the water off with one hand and slid the glass door open with the other.

"You! You ate all my food!"

The girl bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah," she said without an ounce of shame.

"What are you—" before Hiro could finish his sentence, the girl stepped out of the shower, grabbed his jaw with both hands, and planted the longest, deepest kiss Hiro'd ever experienced squarely on his lips. She pushed him back against the wall, her naked body pressing into him like a vice. He didn't know what to do, he'd never seen a girl naked who wasn't two-dimentional.

"There," she pulled away with a self-satisfied smile. "Nobody will ever believe you." Without another word the girl slipped her swimsuit off the rack and padded out of the bathroom, still sopping wet and naked as the sun.

About an hour later when Hiro's mind finally caught up to what'd happened, he realized that while he still had his pants half-on, his shirt and boxers were missing.

—|—|—

"So," battleship Musashi pulled up alongside her quiet flattopped sister. "You excited to meet her?"

Shinano didn't say a word. Her head slowly swayed with the breeze, and on further inspection Musashi noticed her sister's eyes had the milky unfocused gaze of a carrier managing her planes. She hummed a tune to herself, something Musashi vaguely remembered from that one gay romance movie Jersey made her watch a while ago.

"Shina?" Musashi coughed, hoping to get her sister's attention without breaking her concentration too harshly.

Shinano held up a gloved finger. Musashi folded her arms, waiting as patiently as it was possible for the tanned Yamato to wait until Shinano was finished with whatever carrier-related things she was doing.

"Sorry," said the littlest Yamato, her eyes snapping back to their usual dark hazel. "What?"

Musashi coughed and brought her thoughts back into order. "I was asking if you're excited to meet your sister."

"Oh," said Shinano quietly. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then looked straight ahead.

"Shinano?" Musashi inclined her head.

"I…" Shinano shrugged and hung her head. "I should be…"

"But you're not?"

Shinano shook her head. "I mean… it'd be nice I guess, but…"

"But she's our sister!" said Musashi. She would be the first to admit that Yamato was… maybe a little too prim and proper for her own good. But they were _sisters_. Born from the same plans, knitted from the same steel.

"I guess," said Shinano with a noncommittal shrug.

"You guess?"

Shinano nodded. "She's… she's not really my sister. Not like she's yours. You two are…" she waved at Musashi's world-leading rifles. "And I'm…" she waved to her own flat-decked construction. "I never really knew her, you know."

Musashi shook her head, her snowy tufts shivering in the brisk ocean wind. "She knew you. I think she read every report we ever got on you."

"Until she sortied," said Shinano.

"Well… yeah."

"She died to a carrier you know," said the littlest Yamato.

"A _gaijin_ carrier."

Shinano shrugged. "I just… I don't know. I should be excited to meet her. But I'm just… not."

"Well…" Musashi planted her hands on her hips. "I'm sure she's excited to see you."

"Mmm," Shinano smiled. "You think so?"

"I know so."

Shinano nodded. "Mmm. Okay." She thought for a second and dug around in her pocket. "Do you think she likes ramune?

"If it's coming from you, I don't think she'd like anything more."

—|—|—

Cameron Young was aware that dating a warship had its perks. For one, wherever she went she ate on the navy's dime—when the restaurant owner's weren't comping her food out of gratitude that is. For another, and there was really no good way to say this, she was _incredibly_ hot and would remain so for the foreseeable future. It was the complete package. One giant cherry atop her the adorable Eskimo pie he was privileged to call his girlfriend.

That said, he'd still been surprised when a Navy captain showed up at the California hotel he was staying at, explained that his girlfriend had been deployed to Japan for a while, and offered him a flight to see her.

At the time, he thought he was being offered a seat on a cargo jet, like the bouncy, noisy affair that'd ferried him and 'Laska to California in the first place. Not that he cared, of course. He'd have happily strapped himself under the wing of an F-18 if that's what it took.

That was before he learned that the Navy had Gulfstreams.

His friends hadn't actually been that jealous, but he suspected that was because they'd all run out of jealousy after 'Laska stopped by campus one day to bring him sandwiches and a kiss. He could hardly blame them, of course. Compared to a girl like 'Laska, a ride in a GIV didn't even register.

Still though…

A _GIV_.

The pilot let him sit up front for a while, and even take the stick for a bit while they were still inside US airspace. After that, he'd sprawled out in the back to get some sleep. He'd never slept in an airplane before, let alone one so nice. It was… interesting. An experience to check off his bucket list, but it was really just something to pass the time until he landed in Japan.

A pair of Japanese jets escorted them into Nagasaki airport, and a quick train ride escorted by a skinny girl munching on a box of goldfish nearly as big as she was brought him to the naval base. The girl produced an ID from somewhere in her tight-fitting swimsuit to get them through the gate, but moments later she vanished like smoke.

Given everyone else's non-reaction, that was to be expected around here. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

—|—|—

Battleship Mutsu stood on the end of the pier, fingers knitted under her swollen belly to help support the immense weight of her increasingly precocious twins. John had tried to talk her out of it. He didn't like her spending so much time out on her feet, especially in the cold, especially this close to her due date. If she was just his expecting wife, maybe he'd have a point. A wife and mother should be at home, taking it easy and preparing for the arrival of the newest additions to the family.

But Mutsu wasn't just her Admiral's wife. She was a battleship. One of the big seven, one of the heaviest hitters John had at his disposal, second only to the super-heavy iron of Yamato herself. And for the time being, she was useless in that capacity.

A fleet was bearing down on her position, and she was too pregnant to even keep up with Arizona anymore. She couldn't even keep a steady course in anything more than glassy-smooth seas, and that was assuming she could even get up to flank before the overwhelming urge to eat _something_ hijacked any orders she tried to issue to her body.

For the moment at least, she was useless as a warship. The rest of the fleet was picking up the slack she'd left. The absolute least she could do was offer a friendly face when they steamed back into port.

"They'll be here soon," she cooed, gently rubbing her stomach and trying to sooth her twins' demand that she find the nearest deep-fried toaster establishment and consume something in the four-slotted chrome range. They might have a different mother, but Mary and Mirai were certainly Jane's sisters. "Just a little longer."

"Uh, ma'am?" a voice sounded from somewhere behind her. Rough and distinctly American, but not one she recognized.

"Yes?" Mutsu pivoted on her heel. She certainly didn't recognize owner of the voice. He was young, and he didn't look like a sailor. He did, however, have the look of comfortable bewilderment that anyone who spend time around Kanmusume picked up sooner or later. "You must be Cameron."

He nodded. "Yes ma'am. You're… Mutsu, right?"

Mutsu patted her belly. "What gave it away?"

Cameron laughed a little nervously. "Um… Jintsuu said you'd be here. Do you um… it's not a private thing, is it?"

"What?" Mutsu shrugged. "Oh, no. Not at all. You're welcome to join me."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Mmm," Mutsu smiled. So respectful! Any ship would be lucky to have a boyfriend like that.

"Um, ma'am?" Cameron glanced over, his gaze lingering on the battleship's miniskirt and crop-top just long enough to make his observations known. "It's… you're not chilly?"

Mutsu shook her head. "Scarf," she said, pointing to the cloth knotted around her neck.

"Ah," said Cameron. That didn't seem to phase him in the slightest.

"Ah, Cameron?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

Mutsu cradled her belly with gloved hands. "Are you… this might not be a safe place for you."

"Pardon?"

"A ship in my condition," said Mutsu. "Tends to give others… ideas."

Cameron just laughed.

Mutsu shrugged. "Your baby shower."

Before either one could say anything more, dots of gray crawled over the horizon. Cameron squinted, but Mutsu's battleship-grade optics resolved the shapes almost immediately. Jersey was leading the formation, and steaming alongside her were…

Mother of fuck, there were three of them now.

"Holy _shit_ , Muu!" Jersey's rough voice echoed over the waves. "You're fuckin' massive!"

"I—"

"I'm putting on speed," said another Iowa. "Gravity! Too! Strong!"

"That's—"

"No, seriously," said yet another of the twice-dammed American fast battleships. "You realize that when people say 'eating for three' two of those are lil' babies, right? Not full-grown battleships?"

"What I—"

"I don't think she does," said the third Iowa.

"Yeah, there's no way she does," said Jersey.

"Hey!" called the second Iowa. "We can come ashore, right? You won't try and eat us?"

Beside Mutsu, Cameron was trying and failing to stifle his giggles. "Are you quite done?" yelled Mutsu.

"Oh no" said Jersey.

"Not even close," said the second Iowa.

"We've had a week to work on this material," said the third.

"I've got sixty goddamn pages on death-star themed puns alone," said Jersey.

The Japanese battlewagon hung her head. Was this what everyone else felt like?


	66. Chapter 45: Iron Tested, Iron Approved!

"Yo, sanecone!" Jersey wheeled around on her heel and trotted back to catch up with a girl far too not-annoying to be Naka's sister. "Any news about the princess."

Jintsuu pursed her lips and shook her head. "I'm afraid not. After the last engagement, she's fallen back to bide her time."

"Scared of those monster eighteens, huh?"

Jintsuu nodded.

"Hey," Jersey planted her hands on her hips. "While we're waiting for Intel to pick up the trail, mind if we use your repair baths?"

The light cruiser cocked her head. "I'm… not sure why not. But I understood your crossing was uneventful."

"Well… yeah," admitted the Iowa. "But I've got an idea I wanna try."

Jintsuu shrugged. "You're our guest."

"Thanks."

—|—|—

"Um, sir?" a quiet knock and an equally quite voice that sounded eerily like a younger version of Jintsuu disturbed the haze of mind-numbing paperwork that had descended upon Admiral Richardson like a thief in the night. "May I come in?"

"Mmm," Richardson scowled at the meaningless form on his desk. One of the many scraps of paper an Admiral had to deal with, but one that could wait a few hours at least. "Come in."

The door swung open, and in walked a girl who again looked shockingly like Jintsuu. Albeit, a version of Jintsuu that'd ran herself through the xerox at 200 percent scale and dyed her hair the purest white Richardson had ever even conceived. She was a good deal taller than his wife, which combined with her stark white hair was enough to narrow her down to just one ship.

"Alaska, how can I help?"

The large cruiser worried the hem of her parka. "Um… I'm sorry to bother you, but… I have a question and I think you're the only one who can answer it."

"Well," said Richardson. "I'll give it a shot."

"It's…" Alaska sighed. "I know you're not my Admiral, and… and I really do trust Admiral Raleigh. But… but he's not married, and you are."

Richardson exhaled a long breath. So it was one of _those_ conversations. He should have expected it, not only was Alaska's boyfriend staying on the base, the large cruiser steamed right past his very pregnant wife. If she hadn't jumped his bones after that, she was going to soon. "I assume Mutsu got you going?"

Alaska gave him a look that was either bewilderment or just her face's default expression.

"Babies," explained Richardson. "You want kids, right?"

Alaska screwed up her face. "Oh… no."

Richardson had to keep his jaw from clattering onto the floor. "What?"

"I'd be a terrible mother." Alaska hung her head. "I'm… there's no way I could… I'm not mature enough for kids. I'd… I'd break them, I know it."

Richardson blinked, barely able to hear what she was saying and utterly incapable of comprehending it. "I'm… I'm sorry."

Alaska shrugged. "Um… anyway, Cameron likes me a lot, and I like him too. I'd be happy just…" she shook her head. "But he wants to marry me first. And I… I want to be a good wife. I need to be a good wife. He deserves to have a good wife." She looked up at Richardson, tears filling her soft blue eyes. "How do I be a good wife?"

Slowly, deliberately, Richarson shuffled a stack of papers on his desk. He'd been expecting her to ask him about babies—or worse yet, to admit she was already pregnant and ask for babysitting or something. But… marriage advice? It wasn't something he was remotely prepared for. Hell, he'd been married twice and he still wasn't prepared for it.

"Alaska," he said, steepling his fingers and not quite able to meet the girl's glassy eyes. "You… you realize what this means, right?"

The large cruiser nodded. "Sir… you don't know Cameron, but… but he's the nicest, sweetest person you'll ever meet. He's… did you know he enrolled in a three-hundred level history class just to understand me more? On top of all his other…" she sniffed and shook her head.

Slowly, grindingly Richardson leaned forwards like an ancient automaton encrusted with rust and patina to place a hand on Alaska's shoulder. The big warship melted into the admiral's ill-practiced touch and mumbled something he couldn't make out.

"Alaska," said the Admiral. He chose his words carefully, but it was twice the effort slipping them past his lips. "I'm not… the best at this. I only had Langley for…" with a harsh crack his train of thought derailed.

"S-she," Richardson coughed, brutally ordering his spirit to hold together just a little longer. "She was the best part of me. A good wife. Better than—" He bit his lip and pulled his uniform smooth with a muffled cough. "I wasn't the best husband. But… you don't have to be the best. Not at first."

Alaska cocked her head, her cheeks flusher than usual as her she sat quietly across from him.

"Love him," he said at last. "Love him and never stop loving him. Work through the problems. Accept that…" he stopped for a moment. "That there will be problems. You'll make mistakes. He'll make mistakes. But be there for him, for each other. And never _ever_ stop loving each other."

"Like you and Mutsu?"

A dam Richardson didn't know he'd been building cracked. He laughed and a smile creased his weathered face. "Yeah," he said, struggling to laugh and cry at the same time. "I… I do my best. Sometimes it's enough, sometimes… but we work through things. We talk, we work things out _together._ "

"Mmm," Alaska nodded, and Richardson could tell she had a whole division of faeries recording every word he spoke.

"And never go to bed angry."

Alaska nodded again.

"Alaska," said Richardson, grabbing her soft hands in his and looking her square in the eyes. "Never. _Ever_. Go to bed angry."

Alaska opened her mouth a little, then closed it again. "Yes, sir." She stood and smoothed her coat. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, Alaska." Richardson hastily rubbed at his eyes.

"Um… sir?"

"Yes?"

Alaska blushed. "May I have a hug?"

Richardson stood and looked up at the towering cruiser. "Yes, Alaska," he said. "Yes you may." 

—|—|—

"Okay," battleship Missouri rested her hands on her heavily tattooed hips, "Why are we at the docks at four in the morning, and why do you have a camera?" She scowled, her eyes glowing like hot coals in the darkened pool room. "This isn't some wierd fetish thing, is it?"

"Fuck you, sis." Jersey scowled and tried to get the tripod to stay centered. "This is… the _fuck_ are you wearing?"

Mo glanced down at herself. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary with her outfit, at least not for a battleship going to the docks. A white halter-top tied around her massively thick neck and a pair of shorts that only showed a sliver of her bikini's side-ties by her hips. Certainly it was less ostentatious than her big sister's flag-themed outfit that Mo was _certain_ was at least a half-size too small in the chest. "What? A swimsuit?"

"No," Jersey rolled her eyes and jabbed a finger at the necklace draped between the Hawaiian battleship's Mauna Kaes. " _That!_ "

"Oh," Mo shrugged. "Shark tooth necklace." She ran her fingers over the dozen or so wickedly sharp teeth hanging from a thin leather strap.

"My point exactly."

"Fuck you," Mo whacked her sister upside the head, or at least tried to. Jersey blocked it with the blade of her forearm and parried with a halfhearted slap of her own. "It's cool."

"Yeah," Jersey rolled her eyes. "In the eighties. Maybe."

"We're _from_ the eighties, dipshit."

" _I_ am," said Jersey. "Hence my overwhelming coolness."

Mo rolled her eyes.

"You," Jersey poked her sister in the sternum. "Are from the twenty-first century. Get with the fucking times, sis."

"I _have_ ," Mo waved her hands over her chiseled and tanned figure. "This is cool now."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck _you_!"

"Ha!"

Mo hung her head. "Why are you like this?"

"Because I'm older, wiser, and more mature." Jersey said before sticking out her tongue.

"You are the worst goddamn sister."

"Only 'cause I have to—" Jersey froze as the third of the trio walked into the docks. "Wisky, what the actual _fuck_?"

"What?" said the littlest Iowa.

"No, I'm with her," said Mo. "The hell are you wearing?"

Wisky glanced down at herself. "My swimsuit?"

"The hell you are!" said Jersey. "That's a fuckin' suspension bridge on your tits."

"Ah," Wiskey smiled. "You see, as the bustiest of the class—"

"Wisky, we all got the upgrade," said Mo.

"—I have needs you don't."

"We. All. Got. The. Upgrade," grumbled Jersey.

"You don't know what it's like to live with bunkers as big as mine."

"Motherfuck!" Jersey snarled. "We all got the goddamn refit!"

Wisky preened with a smug smile.

"I'm going to kill her," muttered Jersey.

"Not if I do it first," mumbled Mo.

"So," asked Wisky. "Why'd you want us down here, sis?"

"Well—"

"And what's with the camera? This isn't for some weird fetish, is it?"

"That's what I said!"

"Will you two shut the fuck up for one goddamn second?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Okay," Jersey planted her feet on the tile and her hands on her hips. "You know that… plain of ice bullshit?"

"The locker, yeah." Wisky nodded. "After your report I tried to hang on to as many memories as I could."

"Right, the locker," said Jersey. "Supposedly we've got a special connection, we spent so much time on the doorway and all."

Mo shivered. "Don't remind me."

"Anyway. I had a… no I will not give you credit, fuck off!"

Mo and Wisky glanced at each other.

"Sorry," said Jersey with a blush. "Um… Vicky… I've got an, um… tall ship in my head who only I can see."

"Right," said Mo.

"Yeah, that makes sense," said Wisky.

"Anyway I… we… _she_ thinks that the three of us might have a better chance at pulling some intel out of there if we try together."

"Okay," Mo nodded. "That explains the pool, but why the camera?"

"'cause… to get there we've gotta be in a weird-ass trance state," said Jersey. "That'll play hell with our memories. But if we narrate it and record the whole thing we won't be able to forget."

"Huh," Wisky nodded. "That's good thinking, sis."

"Yeah," Jersey bushed. "It was, um… Victory's idea."

Mo chuckled. "So… into the pool?"

"Yeah," said Jersey. "In… like a circle, with our heads touching."

"Why?" asked Wisky.

"I dunno, can't fucking hurt."

"Fair enough."

"I got candles and shit." Jersey produced a zippo from her bikini and darted around the poolside lighting them. "And some nice music for ambiance and shit."

"Cool." Mo settled herself in the water, floating with her toes against the poolside and her head touching her sister's.

With a quick tap on a laptop the sounds of dreamy electronic music filled the repair dock. Jersey wasted no time hopping into the water and joining her sisters.

Together, the three ships closed their eyes and let their breathing fall into a rhythm.

"Jersey?" asked Wisky.

"What?"

"Is this Darude Sandstorm?"

"Yes, now shut up."

"The ten hour version."

"Yes! Now _shut the fuck up._ "

"Kay."

"Just… breathe, okay?"

"Okay."

Three three battleships floated motionlessly in the glass-smooth water. Only the rise and fall of their chests disturbed the utter stillness.

"Wait," said Wisky. "I—"

"I see it too," said Mo.

"Remember the camera!" urged Jersey.

"Right right!" said Mo. "Okay, um… we're uh, we're on the ice. Next to a pool or something."

"A pool or a lake or… a body of water," added Wisky.

"What do you think," said Jersey. "Maybe… I dunno, fifty yards long, maybe twice that wide?"

"Yeah, that sounds right," said Mo.

"There's icebergs choking the pool," said Wisky.

"Yeah, yeah." said Jersey. "Um… yeah, lots of ice concentrated in the… motherfuck it's a map."

"A map?" asked Wisky.

"Yeah. Just… north is that way and east is this way."

"Yeah, okay."

"Tell the camera," said Mo.

"Right," said Jersey. "We're standing on a map of the world. Right about… um… right about the Marinara trench—"

"Mariana," said Wisky.

"What?"

"Marinara is a sauce, it's the Mariana trench."

"Fuck you," said Jersey. "We're looking east over the— over the map. I don't know, do the continents look fucky?"

"Kinda," said Mo.

"Could be the projection," said Wisky. "Or perspective, not used to looking at a map like this."

"Fair point," conceded Jersey. "The… wait, you see that?"

"Yeah," said Wisky. "Looks like… where is that?"

"Eastern Med?"

"Yeah," said Jersey. "Eastern… uh… south-eastern corner of the Med—"

"That's gotta be close enough," added Mo.

"Yeah, um… there's something spilling into the… it's blood."

"Yeah, it's gotta be blood," concurred Wisky.

"There's blood spilling into the sea from… oh fuck it's all over the med."

"China too," said Mo. "Look."

"It's everywhere," said Jersey. "Wait it… oh fuck!"

"For, uh, for a moment there it looked like it stopped," said Mo. "Now it's coming more than ever."

"All over the…" Jersey coughed. "All over the North Atlantic and… and all over the Pacific, I think. Oh fuck that's a lotta blood."

"I think there's more blood than water in that water," said Mo.

"For real," added Wisky.

"Wait!" said Jersey. "Fuck… it stopped."

"It, uh… yeah," said Mo. "Like someone flipped a switch. Water's getting clearer now."

"What the fuck?" weezed Wisky. "What the fuuuuuck?"

"Is that it?" asked Jersey.

"That's gotta be it," said Mo. "I can feel myself slipping back al—"

"Wait!" Jersey barked. "There. Um… uh- uh- there's a like a figure walking towards us."

"Shit shit shit shit," Mo cursed. "I'm loosing it."

"Me too," said Jersey. "Hold on. Um… okay, a figure like a man but he's distorted." Her voice picked up tempo, frantically trying to make the most of what little time she had left. "Like… shit, like something under choppy water."

"Wait wait wait," said Mo. "He's… shit, that was weird. He's a man now."

"Ah, black uniform," said Jersey, rattling off the description as quickly as her lips would allow. "Double-breasted… eagle on the chest. He's— he's—"

"He looks like J.K Simmons," said Wisky.

"Yeah!" said Jersey. "Yeah, yeah he does, um… he's handing me a dagger. It's—" With a gasp her eyes flew open.

"Fuck!" Mo smashed her fist into the water as she too fell out of the trance.

Wisky panted. "What was that?"

"I don't know, sis," said Mo. "I don't—"

"I do," said Jersey. "I know what's going on."


	67. Chapter 46:Sealed Blood-Emblazoned Glory

Another roar of thunder sounded out over the battlefield as Pennsylvania continued to pour fire on the wounded Abyssal battleship she had been dueling with. Her guns shouted over the harsh storm while the muzzle blasts blew away the rains for the most brief of moments. And all along the line ahead of her were such actions being repeated. Some in tune with her own and some at a far more brisk pace.

Even before their crews had begun to reload the massive rifles, she was turning. Turning toward the enemy line and to spoil the inevitable return fire along with every other member of the line. Their evasion was rewarded in that they stole away any chance of significant damage from the Abyss, but still they did not come out unscathed. Fifteen inch shells managed to pierce the rain and wind to land near or glancing blows upon the her while myriad other calibers flew about the battle line.

Pennsylvania saw Yamashiro jerk back violently out of the corner of her eye as one of the shells attempted to drive itself into her foremost turret. While it did not penetrate the thick armor, the force of impact still tore and warped the metal in a shower of sparks.

Had they not been dueling with their most hated foe in bloody waters, she might have cracked an approving look in the Fusou's direction when said battleship shouted something obscene in return.

As it was, there was no time for such frivolity.

Not with the enemy on their doorstep.

Another shell drew a long, bloody gash across her temple and she grit her teeth in anger. Barely a flesh wound. But that did not make it any less unpleasant. Nor did it soothe the roiling fury coursing through her veins.

A titanic retort echoed down the line as Yamato finally blew her target to kingdom come. The super battleship was already outclassing her opponent in almost every possible statistic, but the monstrosity had proven to be far more capable than it let on. Enough to keep Yamato in check at the very least. An unearthly screech of steel and bone punctuated the death throes of the Abyssal battleship.

Pennsylvania winced as the unearthly sound rattled around her head.

Great splashes grew closer and closer. They would have range again and she would be bracketed sooner than later at this rate. Every time the line ruined a firing solution for the Abyss, they found it again with more haste than the last. It was infuriating in that it was almost something praiseworthy.

Arizona shouted over the radio with an ill contained anger.

They needed to push or they would be overrun. The vanguard needed to batter their opponents enough for Yamato and Hiei to move in and cross the head of the line.

But the Abyss was proving they had more than enough reserves to make up for the losses inflicted by fielding such lackluster armor and often barely serviceable warships. For every cruiser or destroyer put down in the vanguard, another would take its place. Even if that replacement nearly sunk itself the moment it made an effort to fire it's guns, it was still a target that required attention.

And it was not for lack of effort. Chikuma and Takao were proving themselves to be exceptionally deadly. Takao was operating with a ruthless efficiency that she was likely to have the highest kill count by the end of this madness. She had made the missile destroyers an extension of her own wrath, calling out targets for the modern warships to loose their namesake armaments upon to kill or cripple for a following deathblow.

Yet the enemy was seemingly endless.

The water grew thick with oil and debris.

Pennsylvania fired her guns again and again. And still her foe remained to trade blows with her. It was maddening. Nothing short of rendering these hulks into blackened shards seemed to keep them down.

Beasts.

Undying and endless with an unquenchable thirst.

Main battery fire tore away a chunk of her foremast in a spray of oily blood and gleaming sparks. The mast twisted as it lost a measure of support and drew an agonized cry from her lips.

No. This was nothing.

This was far from the worst.

Bloodied and tired, they would continue.

Her blood red eyes gleamed as gunfire lit up the sea.

She would not fall here!

The Abyssal battleship she had been exchanging fire with began to turn in tune with its line, but it was slow. Too slow. Her eyes widened as she saw fires begin to eat their way across the corrupted deck. This was her chance!

Pennsylvania willed her crews to hurry. Before the enemy could conceal their vulnerability, she had to fire. She had to end this. The demon must die by her hand. Die in agony so she might aid the fleet in visiting a wretched end to the rest of the enemy!

Pennsylvania's bloodied maw opened in a shout of defiance as all twelve of her rifles loosed their deadly rounds in unison.

Her aim was true and the armor piercing shells tore through the storm into the Abyssal warship.

Many burrowed deep into vile metal, timer counting down towards inevitability.

A few flew over the deck, passing harmlessly past their target.

One shell rose high and lanced into the Abyssal bridge.

Timers reached zero and the battleship's form twisted violently. Internal explosions that did not immediately burst the hull instead bulged the steel like malevolent growths teeming with bloody veins. Fires and subsequent detonations ripped the deck from the hull and the sickening snap of a broken keel echoed over the cacophony. The bridge collapsed in on itself before another explosion blew it from the wreck to land on what remained of the bow.

It rolled over like a headless, bloated whale, sinking below the waves in blazing pieces.

Pennsylvania would not, could not, rejoice in her kill.

For the Abyss was not the only side wracked with the sounds of death and agony.

Her heart turned to ice as Arizona's B turret took a hit as she was bringing her guns up to fire another salvo. It was the kind of shot that any gunner would proudly claim to have made. A miracle of precision that landed an Abyssal shell through window between the turret housing and the cannon itself. A shell that detonated viciously and took the rest of the turret with it in a column of torn steel and fire.

Pennsylvania knew she was screaming, but she could hear nothing more than the sound of gunfire and mangled screams over the radio.

"-OM!"

Her guns swung around to the next enemy in the line with a shower of sparks, the Abyssal that had laid a hand on her sister lay squarely in their sights.

An explosion cracked the sea in the vanguard as a missile destroyer's arsenal cooked off.

"-ivor-?!"

"T-at o-!"

Guns pounded away.

Die.

Die!

 _Die!_

A destroyer broke from the sternguard's melee.

"-vania! Des-tr-er to port!"

Searing red eyes swiveled and caught a glimpse of jagged black teeth tearing through the seas towards her. A torpedo run!

Pennsylvania's secondaries trained themselves on the aggressor and began firing with abandon. Hundreds of splashes marked her gunners' efforts to stymie or kill the destroyer. But it still drove onward heedless of whatever concept of mortality it might have had.

Heavy shells fell about her.

The creature that had struck Arizona was now returning fire in earnest, seemingly satisfied with having landed a crippling blow to her sister.

A section of her bow deck was torn away as her secondaries fired ever faster.

The destroyer erupted into sickening flames. Flames that raced along its small frame and towards exposed torpedoes.

"Ka-aze's hi-!"

What?

Abyssal torpedoes found their moment and flew from their bindings moments before the fires consumed the charging destroyer.

"Hiei! -ere! GO!"

Pennsylvania's vision tightened as the blackened and vile torpedoes churned up the water. They wanted her. They wanted to bite into her flesh and tear her apart. Kill her and drag her down into the depths, writhing in fire and pain.

More explosions rocked the stormy seas at the head of the line. Death bloomed in clouds of smoke, steam, and oil logged fire.

She turned.

She broke from the line.

More shells pierced her steely flesh, but they were preferable to the far more lethal weapons now sailing past her.

A breath of relief would be stolen from her as another salvo rocked her and silenced much of her secondary armament. It hurt. It hurt so much. But they would not stop. They would never stop no matter how much it hurt!

Pennsylvania attempted to regain a firing solution on the battleship, but her directors had been hit. Her head pounded as she forced broken machinery to work before damage control had a chance to step in. Gears and pistons screamed in their mangled housings. Do. Not. Stop.

Stop for nothing.

Her rifles thundered and her shots flew harmlessly past the Abyssal now closing distance.

Then a half dozen more crashed all about it.

A hate filled roar echoed out from Arizona as she rejoined the fight. Broken. Battered, Bloody. But not dead.

"-ush th- back!"

Before Pennsylvania could allow a feeling of joy creep into her heart, a wrath-filled order came over the radio from the sternguard. She and Arizona were to push up the line and abandon their immediate foe to the them.

Jintsuu and her destroyers had slain the last of the Abyssals pinning them down.

And they wanted blood.

The still form of a cruiser told her why.

She pushed her boilers to the breaking point to join Arizona in assaulting the line. A long slick of oil followed her while her crews did everything they could to keep her fighting. Smoke curled from her lips and numb hands cocked the hammers of savaged guns.

She would not fall apart this day.

* * * * *

Admiral Richardson once again picked up his pen.

It had lay next to it's long empty sibling.

They had been employed in a role he held onto a hope would cease to be.

To the families of the crew of JS _Myoukou_.

To the families of the crew of USS _McCampbell_.

To Tenryuu.

To the sisters of Kawakaze.

He pressed the nib to the paper emblazoned with the official seal of the United States Navy

"It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you..."

He would be writing long into the night.

* * * * * 


	68. Omake: Iron, What The F-!

**Uploader's Note: And now, for something different.**

 **(a.k.a. Break time is over for me.)**

"No."

"You lost."

"Fuck you. No. No to the fuckteenth degree." New Jersey stated flatly as she backed away from the advancing avatars of her doom.

The approach did not slow and a sliver of desperation she would never fathom admitting aloud crept into her voice.

"I was drunk! Completely shit-faced!" She waved her hands in front of her in a vain attempt to ward off her assailants. Assailants she could bench-press without breaking a sweat. "Fuck no. No no no! You don't get to do this!"

Malevolent smiles broadened.

"Oh, yes we do~"

"And there's nothing you can do about it."

"Surrender. We... promise to be gentle."

"Poi~"

Beaded sweat dripped from Jersey's brow and her blood chilled with each step back. Was there really no escape? Were decades of existing as the most powerful and awe-inspiring surface combatant on the planet to culminate in this kind of humiliating end? At the hands of a few destroyers!?

Her back hit the wall.

"Fuck you!"

The destroyers pounced.

New Jersey's screams echoed down the halls.

* * *

"How."

She took an awkward step.

"The actual fuck."

Something dug into places it shouldn't.

"Do you wear this."

A breath threatened to expose far more than already was.

"You fucking speedboat!?

Okay, so her glorious, cheese grating abs were on full and prominent display for all to bask in their glory. And her legs were unquestionably amazing. But that was right about where the positive side of her situation ended.

The only possible way this could get any worse was if the internet found out. Or her sisters found out. Or Williams found out. Especially if Williams found out. ...Okay, there were a lot of fucking ways this could get infinitely worse.

A flash of light made her blink.

Goddammit.

"The same way Mutsu doesn't flash the entire base. Also, good angle." Shimakaze peeked out from behind the camera she'd borrowed from... somewhere. Probably Naka's minion. She raised one hand and gave a thumbs up. Those inscrutable grey eyes never deviated from their flat stare of personal amusement. Yeah, fuck you and your secrets too.

"I think we can get some better lighting if we have her lay down." Shigure piped up while adjusting the mirror in her hands.

No! You be quiet! Do not give them a more fu-

"She can, like, pose like those models poi."

"Fuck you, Poi!"

"Which ones?"

This was Hell. Actual Hell. The one with a capital 'H' that she sent everyone who ever well and truly pissed her off to. No more betting with destroyers. Never again. Nope. No fucking way. Not even if there was no possible way she could lose, she'd still end up losing somehow. Because the fucking universe ran off of the amusement generated by her suffering.

New Jersey's face paled to the color of ash when Poi pulled a magazine out of seemingly nowhere.

Oh. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuckety. Fuck fuck fuck.

If Pennsylvania didn't murder her, then Arizona would.

Or they'd team up and take turns turning her into unrecognizable scrap before getting Sanecone in on the action to make sure her remains could be poured into a fucking sippy cup.

"Pooooiiiii? Wheeeere did you get thaaat?" Try to be pleasant. Try to catch them off guard. Be fast. Be nimble! The candy-cane stockings she'd been forced into stretched as steel muscle tensed. The syrupy-sweet voice she was attempting to use sounded so very, very wrong in her ears. "That's not for destroyers~"

"I found it."

"Where?"

The other destroyers seemed to become aware that she was not a happy battlewagon at the moment, less so than she already was, and were slowly backing away. Except for that fucking speedboat. She was just taking more and more pictures. That camera was going to get blown up in the most violent way she could manage. With enough prejudice to make it a war crime.

Yuudachi skipped backward towards the door with the most shit-eating grin on her face. One New Jersey frequently saw in a mirror.

Oh, fuck no.

"Hmm... I don't remember where." The destroyer twirled about and Jersey swore she saw a flash of mischief in those eyes. Bored Marine level mischief. "Like, maybe I should get some help so I can give it back. What do you think?"

New Jersey began advancing, desperation and maybe a little madness in her eyes.

"Poi, don't you fucking dare. Don't you move one goddamn inch from that spot and give me the fucking magazine."

If there was a shred of hope left that this hellish situation would not get any worse, Yuudachi dashed it when she grinned.

"Go ask Mom."

Jersey whirled around to glare at Shimakaze with fury and betrayal written all over her face. That fucking speedboat!

"Good idea! Later, Pooooiii~!"

"You get fucking back here!"

* * *

Battleship New Jersey did not catch Yuudachi.


	69. Chapter 47: Spherical WO

"Holy _fuck_ , Gale!" Jersey squinted into the tiny webcam, ignoring the stares that everyone else in the room was trying not to direct towards her still-wet swimsuit clad ass. "Are those your tits or did you open a beach resort while I was away."

On the other side of the screen, Gale blinked. She looked like someone had just derailed her metaphorical train of thought with a very real simile to the brain stem. _"_ _What,"_ she said flatly, too stunned to even scrounge up punctuation.

"Yeah," Mo gave her older sister a sideways look. "What?"

"'Cause…" Jersey waved at the screen, "beach balls and… her tiddies… she's pregnant and—wait, you _are_ still pregnant, right?"

 _"_ _Eight weeks,"_ groaned Gale with a tone that perfectly blended excitement and utter misery.

"Really?" Wisky peeked around her sisters. Her nose scrunched up and Jersey could _hear_ the unnecessary calculations running through her weeb-infected mind. Wisconsin had an unusually large German enclave and… well, it showed. "You look ready to pop _now_."

"Actually, yeah," said Jersey. "Is that a fuckin' globe under your shirt?"

 _"_ _Hardy har,"_ Gale groaned.

"No, really." Mo adjusted her mirrored red sunglasses and momentarily flashed her angry red irises. "I can see longitude lines."

 _"_ _What?"_ Gale made a face and hiked up her shirt. Not only was her belly a perfect sphere, someone had drawn a navigation-quality map of the world—or at least the western hemisphere—on her taut skin. _"_ _Borie!"_

Wisky produced a soggy five dollar bill from somewhere in that absurd rig of a swimsuit and wordlessly handed it to her equally damp sister.

"Look…" Jersey shook her head, trying to keep things on topic before the combined sexual energy of three soaking-wet Iowas in swimwear completely destroyed the combat effectiveness of Naval Activities Sasebo. "Where's the doc, I need to talk to him."

 _"_ _Speaking,"_ a voice from off-camera quickly came on-Camera when Gale twisted her phone. _"_ _New Jersey."_

"Doc," Jersey said stiffly. Maybe it might've been a good idea to throw a shirt on but… No. He'd seen her in swimwear before, it'd be fine. "I figured it— _we_ figured it out. I think."

 _"_ _Figured what out?"_

"All of it," said Jersey. "The Abyss, Jones, all of it."

Crowning leaned in to the camera. _"_ _I'm listening."_

"It was, uh, Vicky's idea actually," said Jersey. "We go into a deep trance together and… point is it worked." She bit her lip and forced herself to slow down. "The Abyss is old."

 _"_ _We knew that."_

"I mean _really_ old," said Jersey. "It's… okay, we're the manifestation of hope and sailors' dreams and all that positive shit, right?" she motioned to herself and her sisters.

 _"_ _As far as we can figure, yeah."_

"But _they_ are the manifestation of fear and terror," said Jersey. "The Abyss was born the first time man struck another man in anger on the sea. Or maybe just close to them. Maybe blood washes off the beaches and feeds the Abyss."

"That'd be my reading," said Wisky, adjusting her glasses.

"Right," said Jersey. "The Abyss feeds on fear and hate and destruction and death… and during the war we gave it the fuckin' mother of all buffets."

 _"_ _But after 1945…"_

"We starved them…" said Mo. "It… whatever."

"And this has happened before," said Wisky.

 _"_ _The Sea Peoples,"_ said Crowning. _"_ _Another period of peace and prosperity disrupted by raiders from the ocean."_

"Exactly!" said Jersey. "But there's more."

"We met their admiral," said Mo. "Old Jones himself."

"He put on the face of Admiral Lutjens," said Jersey. "He gave me his dagger, his _Imperial German_ dagger."

 _"_ _Okay…"_ Crowning blinked.

"You don't understand why that's significant?" half-asked Jersey.

Wisky didn't wait for a response. "Lutjens served his country because he had to, not because he had any particular allegiance to the Nazi party. Well—"

"It's the short version," Mo deftly snipped one of her little sister's meandering rants in the bud.

"But I wanted to tell him—"

"Ohmygod, shut the fuck up!" Jersey snapped. "Look," she rounded on Crowning. "I think the Abyss and its admiral aren't the same thing. And I think the admiral's rooting for us."

Crowning leaned in. _"_ _Jersey?"_

"We," Mo waved generally to herself and her sisters, "Er… kanmusume—"

"Nice pronunciation!"

"—Thank you, sis. Anyway, we first showed up after those brave Jap coasties charged into Abyssal teeth."

"And," interjected Jersey, "Mo remembered a… figure making a show of looking the other way when she returned."

 _"_ _I'm sorry,"_ Crowning shook his head. _"_ _You… you think he's on our side? How could that be."_

"He's the ferryman," said Wisky. "The Abyss only cares about blood, but the admiral—"

"The admiral's seen _us_ ," said Mo. "You… people… he's seen us at their best."

"Seen us spend our lives without hesitation," said Jersey, "on the off chance that we _might_ buy another's in the process."

"So he's stacking the deck," said Wisky. "Stringing the Abyss along while slipping us the tools to starve it out."

 _"_ _You're… sure about this?"_ Crowning leaned in further than the camera's autofocus allowed.

"Oh," Jersey shook her head. "Not even remotely."

"We recorded the whole thing," said Mo. "Just… let us know what you think."

"But it _feels_ right in my gut," said Jersey.

Wisky just nodded and shifted the unnecessary decorative cords on her swimsuit to better frame her curves.

 _"_ _Of course,"_ said Crowning with the pleasent smile of a man who hadn't just been accosted in the middle of dinner by three soaking wet battleships with less than a square yard of tight-fitting lycra between them.

"Thanks," said Jersey. "Oh, and uh…" she glanced around and coughed significantly until her sisters left her alone. "You and 'shima fucking yet?"

 _"_ _Oh my god, Jersey!"_ Gale scowled from off-camera, but from the sound of it she was too hungry to waste any more time yelling while there was food to eat. Crowning slowly turned a new and interesting shade of red.

"You _are_!" Jersey cackled.

 _"_ _I'm… afraid not,"_ said Crowning. _"_ _With Wash out of action, she's had to take up fleet-in-being duties. When she's on-base all she wants to do is eat and sleep."_

"Oh," Jersey shook her head. "Yeah, that sounds about right." She tapped her fingers against her thigh, thinking to herself for a second. "Make her dinner, something nice and heavy like stew, then read to her in bed. Something she likes, but won't mind falling asleep to."

 _"_ _Is that an order?"_

"Just trust me," said Jersey. "I've… you don't know how soothing it'll be for her."

Crowning smiled. _"_ _You'll find your match."_

Jersey shook her head with a roguish grin. "Ain't nothing that can match an Iowa. Anyway, I got shit to do. Gale?"

 _"_ _What!?"_

"If you pop before I see you again, congrats."

 _"_ _Oh,"_ Gale's bluster deflated in much the way her stomach didn't. _"_ _Thanks, Jerjer."_

"Because you're pregnant I'm gonna let that slide," Jersey shook her head. "Take care of yourself."

 _"_ _Good hunting."_

—|—|—

The first time they'd met, Jersey had not had a very high opinion of the battleship Yamato. She was big, the biggest girl and near-on the biggest _thing_ in Sasebo. But she seemed almost afraid of her height, shy and blushing and demure. She got her hips stuck in places a proper battleship could have— _should have_ —smashed her way out of without a second thought. She didn't command the attention of a room just by entering it, stature be damned. She almost folded into herself and forced the spotlight away.

It was just _weird._ Musashi might be annoying, but at least she had the proper bombast for a battleship of her caliber. Of course, that was before her first engagement with the… _thing_ intelligence had named 'Tosa-princess.' Yamato was still quiet, but not shy. She was more like a cocked pistol once someone had left on the table. Quiet and unassuming, but coiled and deadly should she need to be.

At the front of the room, Admiral Richardson paced in sharp, measured steps. Even with the constant motion, he was visibly brimming with rage he couldn't find ways to burn off. Jersey knew the feeling. She hadn't known any of the ships that bitch took down, but she did know poi. As much as she hated the little shit… she'd never seen Yuudachi cry. Not like that. Destroyers weren't supposed to cry. They made other people cry, but this…

Jersey was _itching_ to kill something. And she knew that if it were possible, Richardson would wade out to the princess and beat her to death with his own bare hands. "We lost the princess in the night," he said, clenching his hands behind his back. "Recon forces are in place. The second we establish a track, a fast battleship element under New Jersey will deploy."

The admiral glared at Jersey, his gaze burning through her mirrored shades and almost melting her ice-blue eyes. "Run her down, find her home, and burn it to the ground. I leave the details in your very capable hands."

"Sir," said Jersey. "It would be my honor."

* * *

 **Uploader:** Well, Back from my first vacation, onwards to Germany in a week. But, I feel bad about not getting something out after a while, so have a double (or maybe triple?) update!


	70. Chapter 48: Genuinely Genuine

The winter sea rolled and smashed against itself in the distance. Small waves would make their way up the sandy beach and ultimately crash, each striving to make it further than the last. With the tide going out, it was a slow-going effort in futility.

Pennsylvania sat away from the surf, her coat offering something of a cushion against the sand as she stared out over the waters.

The funerary services had ended some time ago. Four hours and thirteen minutes ago according to her internal chronometer. But that meant very little to her in the grand scheme of things. What mattered had been the funeral itself. The fact it had been held in the first place.

A lot of people had died in that battle.

The butcher had given them a rather small bill if one looked on the positive side of things.

If anyone had said that to her face, Pennsylvania knew for a fact that person was going to be written off as a tip for the waiter.

It was the reality of war.

"May I join you?"

Pennsylvania did not need to look up to know it was Mutsu. The woman's voice was unmistakable.

"Sure."

She glanced to the side as Mutsu took her time sitting down. Heavy with child was an understatement. Being so close to launch with twins had reduced the battleship's mobility to the point she was more like a monitor with a limp. Not that had diminished any other aspect. If anything the teasing and tormenting she was so well known for had multiplied.

Nothing was said between the two for some time.

Only the sounds of the sea broke the stillness.

"Are you worried I'm going to fly off the rails?" Pennsylvania finally stated. "Run off and do something stupid in a fit of rage?"

"The thought had crossed my mind. You don't exactly have a reputation for being the most level headed person. Even your nickname can attest to that."

Pennsylvania snorted at the frank reply. At least she knew Mutsu wasn't going to pull punches for whatever this was.

"And I don't care enough to make an effort to change it."

Mutsu gave a soft giggle.

"No, I don't suppose you do."

"Then what do you want?" If Mutsu was just here to sit and waste her time, then she was better off elsewhere. There were a million other, more useful things she could be doing. Hell, she could say the same about herself. She just... didn't care. It was a strange feeling. To not give a single damn about nearly anything.

"Just to see how you were doing." Mutsu looked up at the sky, leaning back to support herself on her hands.

Pennsylvania's eyes narrowed and her fists tightened.

Did she bother to give a straight answer? Hell, did she even want to? And why Mutsu of all people? They weren't exactly friends, much less bosom buddies who would confide in one another without reservation. They were associates. Superior and subordinate. Nothing more.

"Why do you want to know?" The words had left her lips before she could think twice about stopping them.

"Hmm..." came the thoughtful hum in response. "I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I said it was because I was worried about you. But you would believe me if I said Ari and the Duckies were worried about you."

Pennsylvania would believe her sister was concerned without a second thought. Despite their sometimes rocky relationship, the idea Ari would not fret and worry in some way about someone she cared for simply did not seem conceivable.

The Duckies...

She wanted to deny any of the Ducks would ever be worried about her, but that was a fool's errand. The simple fact she couldn't help but refer to them by their silly little nickname even in her own thoughts was a testament to the that. She'd have to be blind to not notice the broad grin on Teruzuki's sunny face or the slight smile cracking Hatsuzuki's normally stern expression whenever she spent time with them. Time she did not altogether dislike. Time she might almost be convinced to admit she enjoyed.

The same for Kawakaze...

Kawakaze...

"...Dammit."

"I suppose I was right then."

"...I hate them. I hate them all."

Mutsu thankfully did not interject. If it was her goal to coax her into spilling her guts, then she had damn well succeeded. And with disturbing ease at that. That one little crack. That simple mention about the Ducks being worried had been all that was needed.

It burned her to have such an easily exploited vulnerability.

It burned her that her vulnerability was what it was.

She lowered her gaze and drew a harsh breath.

"I hate _Akizukis_. I hate _Shiratsuyus_. I hate _Sendais_. I hate every. Single. One of them." Pennsylvania's chest tightened. "They killed so many. They killed my sister. My friends and family. It wouldn't matter how many I kill in vengeance or see sent to the bottom, that hatred just doesn't want to die."

A hand rested on her shoulder, yet she did not knock it away.

"I don't hate them though. Hatsuzuki and Teruzuki are... They're good girls. They drive me up the wall at times. But I don't hate them." A choking sound rushed from her throat. "I don't. A-and I don't think I could. Not anymore."

That comforting hand now rubbed comforting circles on her back. Each movement crumbling whatever might have remained of a resistance. She felt her face screwing up into an expression of pain as her heart broke.

"And Kawakaze... No. I can't hate her. I couldn't. That obnoxious, troublemaking little shit who never once stopped laughing and smiling no matter how much she pissed me off or after I threw her into whatever body of water was in range. Nothing stopped her. Always following me around and causing trouble. Pulling pranks and jumping out of nowhere to try and spook me." Pennsylvania sobbed, giving up what might have remained of her image of anger. "I miss her. I miss my stupid little pain in the ass brat of a destroyer."

With that admission, the dam of fury, hatred, and unrestricted anger broke.

Seventy years of grief rushed forward.

And Battleship Pennsylvania screamed in anguish.

Mutsu gently stroked the messy red hair of the sobbing Pennsylvania currently attempting to wrap her arms around her swollen midsection.

"Just let it all out. I'm here." She whispered. "For as long as you need me here. I'm not going anywhere."

She would never say it would be okay. Because it wouldn't. Not for Pennsylvania. Not for Tenryuu and her children. Not the families of the crews of the the _Myoukou_ or the _McCampbell_. That wound would never heal. The pain of it might grow more bearable, but it would never fade completely.

Though they all sailed into harm's way with full knowledge of what that would entail, that did not in any way lessen the impact of their loss.

Tenryuu would have to go on knowing that Tatsuta had fallen in the line of duty, her keel snapped by an enemy torpedo after having suffered the damages of long and grueling combat. Her body had been claimed by the seas when the flooding had been too much. The battle had gone on too long to recover much more than her broken spear. A spear that would be sent to Tenryuu along with her personal effects.

And the battleship in her arms...

Pennsylvania would never see Kawakaze's smile again.

Mutsu continued her ministrations, attempting to provide some level of comfort to the standard. Pennsylvania was rambling now. What she could decipher among the cracking sobs seemed to be names and apologies. A few she recognized. But most were unknown to her. Perhaps they were crew who had fallen or ships that had sunk. Or names of personal significance to her. The standard had a long history after all.

She looked up at the sky to see the stars beginning to make their appearance.

It was a very pretty sight.

Pennsylvania was beginning to calm a little, her ramblings softening and slowing. The tension slowly melting away as she cried herself into exhaustion.

"Pennsylvania?"

No response. Only the soft hiccups of fading sobs and the slight tightening of her embrace.

"I'm here." She moved her hand down from Pennsylvania's now tousled hair to rest upon her back. Pennsylvania relaxed slightly under the gentle touch. "I'm still here. You don't have to say anything. Just let it all out."

Mutsu had found that sometimes just letting someone vent helped them far more than attempting to offer advice or words of comfort. In contrast, Ari more often needed someone to talk to when something troubled her or had shaken her heart. She might need a little prodding, but their little heart to hearts together often worked wonders to raise the battleship's spirits. And her own when she felt weighed down.

"I wish..."

"Hmm?"

"I wish I-I could have done something..." muttered Pennsylvania. "Something. Anything. Even just... been there at the end."

Mutsu breathed a sad sigh.

From the report and from what had been said by those who returned, Kawakaze had passed in Takao's arms before Pennsylvania had been able to reach her. The damage was fatal, even with what damage control had managed to repair. All the heavy cruiser had been able to do was ease her passing amidst the fires.

"Mutsu." The weight of the distraught battleship lifted itself off of her form, allowing her to position herself a bit more comfortably. She watched as Pennsylvania sat down on the sand and slowly attempt to pull herself together before speaking in a voice that was raw and still filled with hurt. "...Thank you."

"You're welcome." Mutsu smiled. She hadn't done much more than just be there. But it had helped. Oh! That's right. There was one other thing she needed to do. "Pennsylvania, there is something I wanted to tell you. Two, actually. But if you'd rather wait, that's fine."

Pennsylvania hesitated before shaking her head.

"No. Please, tell me."

She nodded.

"John received a message from Kawakaze's sisters." A tear-stained letter hand-delivered by Yuudachi to be exact, but it had responses from all the summoned sisters.

"A message?" Pennsylvania visibly stiffened. Perhaps there was something of a fear of what might be in that letter.

"It's addressed to you. But Yuudachi said not to worry about what's inside and I trust she wouldn't lie about it. I have it with me if you'd like it now." Destroyers could be painfully honest at times. For better and worse. "And I talked with John about this. But we think it would be right to give you the choice."

"I-I'll take it. And the choice of what?" She extended her hand for the letter.

"A choice of whether or not you want to take possession of Kawakaze's personal effects. Guardianship and next of kin is a little messy with shipgirls." She handed over the letter and raised a finger. "Her official guardian is the Navy. And since John is her commanding officer, it fell to him instead of one of her sisters. So we talked about it and made a decision."

"But why me?" There was genuine confusion on her face. Even in the growing dark, Mutsu could see it plain as day.

"I think you already know the answer to that." She smiled softly and placed a hand on her swollen belly. "You don't have to decide now. We'll hold onto her things until you do."

Pennsylvania looked down and the letter and pursed her lips.

"I'd like to read this by myself."

Mutsu nodded.

"By all means. I'll tell the Duckies and Ari to give you some space."

"I... appreciate it."

"I'd just like one teensy, tiny little favor in return~" She clasped her hands together in a display of teasing pleading.

Pennsylvania responded with a baffled expression.

"Help me up?"

The standard snorted but complied. Much to Mutsu's amusement and relief.

The sunrise shone through the windows of the battleship dorms, illuminating the sleeping form of Battleship Pennsylvania. She sat at her desk, head resting on folded arms and face streaked with still fresh tears.

Next to her hand, having fallen from its grip lay a letter decorated with teardrops, new and old.

And on her face lay something that had not graced her lips in over seventy years.

A pure and genuine smile.

* * *

 **Uploader's Note:** And I quote from the forum **- "** _Excuse me, I did not need that many feels this early in the morning!_ " and " _As for the fallen... to quote a certain Captain of an Enterprise from a time yet to come, " **...this time we paid for the party with our dearest blood.**_ "

Well, this is as far as we go for now. By the way, there is a lot of stuff on the Doggos/WolfBait/GrafSpee "side" stories- they've massive now. I'm going to go back and compile them into one, as the author of Doggos suggested(?). Now, if the authors are listening, I'd like input- I can put it in this story, _OR_ put them all into their own seperate one, either individually or as a trio.

I know a few people that are here and on the forum, on which I'm not anywhere nearly as active as them. So, let me know, even as I'm in Germany I'll be watching!

Reviews help too~

Caboose out


	71. Wolfbait Chronicles 1-3

**CABOOSE'S NOTE- PLEASE, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ADMIRAL NELSON, READ THIS:** **After a long, long period without updates, I will finally explain (Though many of you probably know this already).**

 **TheJumper, the author of BelBat, is moving on to a different project, and BelBat is now going through a reboot (Something it could probably use). I have _not_ gotten in contact with the new author, so I might or might not be able to get that on here for you guys. If I do, it'd be a new story.**

 **But, there's a lot of you guys, so what I'll do is this: I'll post the remaining Omake in a good sequence, fix the first chapter because damn, I really need to, and give an update to it _saying_ that this story will be done. It's unfortunate, yes, but that's how it is.**

 **So, brace yourselves for Doggos!, The Wolfbait Chronicles, and The Hunt for Abyssal Graf Spee; I will update them as far as I can, and fairly frequently in the next bit of time.**

 **Wow, December 2019 already...**

 **The following is a repost of Part 1-3 of the Wolfbait chronicles because I've lost track of what I posted, and the docs are long gone from the site.**

* * *

"Do you have a good track on him!? Can you find that ship!?"

The almost desperate words of Ashigara rang clear as a whistle in Shigure's ears. Not what was needed when she was tracking a submarine, and one far more advanced than the ones that slaughtered her country's shipping before claiming her, too. She had read up on these things, and everything else related to naval warfare after she sunk. Even if her former enemy were now allies, it didn't hurt to know what they could and could not do, levelling effect or not.

The fact that she found that thing at all was a miracle, as she began focusing on somewhere that sounded a little too quiet.

"Ashigara-san, submarine hunting takes patience," she said, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. She squinted her eyes shut. There was definitely—

"I need to give him my number! I've fought for so long, and victory is just within my reach!" She shouted. "All I need to do is take hold!"

Dammit.

She was so excitable, almost like Kongou, but the obsession with tea and the Admiral was swapped out for curry and men in general. Shigure would admit to herself that to have someone who loved her wouldn't be so bad, but the reasons why she didn't were different to those of Ashigara.

Her radio crackled to life, disrupting her search even further. Dammit…

"Shigure, this is Myoukou. Do you copy?"

"I read you, Myoukou," she responded with a sigh. "Are there reports of enemy activity?"

"Negative so far, but we just received word that Pearl Harbor has been retaken from the enemy. CarDiv One and New Jersey were instrumental in driving the enemy out, and I hear that the Americans got several new battleships as well. Also, is Ashigara alright? She couldn't quite speak so coherently after she returned from Mutsu's wedding."

"Ashigara apparently has a boyfriend now," the destroyer responded curtly.

"There is no 'apparently' with this!" Barked Ashigara behind her. "He's mine! He even said that he would work this out! I've waited too long for this!"

"Oh goodness…" groaned Myoukou. "Let me guess: she fell head over keel for one of the groomsmen?"

"That's affirmative."

"Which one?"

It appeared that Ashigara was now starting to tune in, because Shigure saw her eyes light up brighter than a star shell. "His name is James, and he's very patient! Oh, I can see the two of us in front of a fireplace—"

"Ashigara, you need to take this one step at a time," Myoukou cut in, gently chiding her sister. "Make sure that your resources are secure before you start laying down keels."

"But victory requires a fast, decisive move!" The Hungry Wolf complained.

"Victory in this case involves a degree of patience, Ashigara." Myoukou continued to chide. "And you're looking for someone aboard a submarine on top of that. Once they leave port, they vanish—"

"I brought Shigure with me!" Ashigara countered. "And she's one of our best at ASW! We'll find—" The sight of a set of flares shooting up from a stretch of open water caught their attention. "The hell was that!?"

"I believe our submarine found and sunk us both," Shigure flatly informed her. "We allowed ourselves to become distracted, something we cannot afford against submarines, especially the newer ones."

There was a long, silent pause as the two stood, before it dawned on Ashigara what just happened.

"Son of a—"

[=]

"Contact Sierra-Two, Myoukou, is breaking up, sir," I called out as the sound of a certain Wolf's angry grunts and growls rang through the headphones. "Contact is also expressing extreme frustration."

A low laugh rumbled through the sonar room, among those who weren't buried in their own headphones. Even with the enemy reducing our boat to a joke, loud surface contacts were still loud surface contacts.

"Excellent work, Hunter," the Captain replied. "Next time, though, you're not using the ship to torpedo her. I'll shoot you up to the surface if I have to."

A deep flush spread across my face, and a louder laugh followed the Captain's comment. "Uhh, yes, Skipper," I hurriedly replied.

Even though Ashigara was cursing towards the heavens, I could still hear it over a hundred feet below the waves, or at least a semblance of it. Low growls echoed below her position, picked up by Seawolf's passive towed array as we crept along at barely five knots. The boat was probably enjoying this, too, even if it couldn't quite make up for the denial of endless sunken U-Boats topped off by an H-series battleship.

This was far easier than hunting down Abyssal forces, a fight that shouldn't have even amounted to 'one-sided', and yet here we were, engaging in impromptu exercises with one obsolete, if voluptuous, heavy cruiser, alongside her sole escort, a destroyer who chalked up her survival against all odds to sheer, bloody luck, rather than the wit and extensive training of her captain.

However, I heard something splash into the water, something heavy and rattling. "What the hell…" I muttered, as the rest of the sonar room began looking upwards. Was someone dropping anchor?

The sound of something clanking against the hull seemed to confirm my suspicions, followed by the almost deafening noise of it scraping.

Various swears and even terrified cries echoed through the boat, as the anchor snagged onto something.

"Emergency blow, now!"

The lights faded to a deep red as the sound of our ballast tanks being blown echoed through the boat, and I realized that someone had fucked up. The boat rose, causing my ears, and probably everyone else's, to pop.

I promptly took the headset off and buried my head in my hands, wondering just what in the hell possessed them to literally go fishing for submarines.

It wasn't long before we reached the surface, the Captain asking us just what happened.

"It appears that someone dropped their anchor directly on top of us, sir," I informed him, calmly as I could. I wasn't sure whether to panic, get angry, or laugh.

The Captain's hand met his face. He, too, was unsure what to think of this. "If this is that cruiser who did it, I'm going to give you some rather unconventional orders."

"Only one way to find out, sir," I replied, face going deep red.

"Right. Hunter, you're with me. We're gonna see just what the hell is going on, here," the Captain ordered, groaning at the sheer absurdity of the situation, and probably not wanting to think of how long we're going to be spending in the dock waiting for repairs.

A few minutes later, and blinding daylight met me, causing me to wince and avert my gaze. The first thing I heard aside from the roar of the waves was the Captain cursing to high heaven.

"That's the fucking… gyahhhhh!"

Adjusting to the light, I could see a long gash from near the bow of the boat all the way to the bottom of the sail, the anchor dug in somehow. My eyes widened at the sight, at just how nasty it looked. While I didn't see any breached bulkheads, I did see severed wires and piping. Thank god we weren't even that deep when it happened. But our sheer, bloody luck came at the cost of our passive towed array, which had been cut and now needed replacing.

"So who's footing the bill?" I quipped, just as shocked at what had happened. Total repair costs were easily in the high seven figures, and I wouldn't be surprised if they broke eight.

"Hunter, please don't be a little shit…" the Captain growled.

But beyond his fuming form were the paralyzed ones of Ashigara and Shigure, the latter of whom was on the other end of the chain and had the look of a puppy who had broken someone's expensive Surround Sound system while playing around, and was facing the tender mercy of its understandably upset owner. Oops.

Ashigara, on the other hand, just stared at me, no doubt assuming the worst.

"It's alright, Ashigara!" I hollered, trying to reassure her. Both of them were no doubt fucked because of this. Attack boats, like most modern warships, didn't grow on trees, even if Electric Boat was delivering new 774s ahead of schedule and under budget. The only thing that would be worse is if they had done this to Jimmy Carter.

Focusing my gaze somewhat, I could see her hyperventilating, practically on the verge of a panic attack. It was understandable, if nothing else. God, did I get myself into a mess…

"Skipper!" I heard someone shout from below. "We got good news and bad news! Good news is that our radio works! Bad news is that our Sonar's out!"

"I can kind of see that, Lawrence!" the Captain yelled. "Get on the horn and call a goddamn tow!"

"Way ahead of you, sir!"

The Captain turned to me. "Hunter? Inflate a raft and have a talk with your girlfriend and ask just what the fuck happened, here, could you?"

"Yes, sir," I replied before slowly making my way down the ladder. "Hey, can someone spare a lifeboat!?" I shouted below. "Skipper didn't give any orders to abandon ship or anything, but we kinda need one!"

"Did he order you to have a good time with that cruiser, Hunter?" one of the crewmen ribbed me.

"I'm pretty sure I'd have to treat her to dinner, first!" I countered.

"Which I'm pretty sure was at the wedding!"

I groaned. "Don't be a smartass, Davenport! Just give me that raft!"

"Belay that order! Looks like someone sent a boat for us!" the Captain yelled.

Groaning in frustration, I cursed my luck and began climbing back up, seeing an old rowboat slowly being paddled towards us. Somehow the thing had expanded to full size, in spite of being manned by fairies.

Climbing down from the top of the sail, I carefully made my way over to the launch, remembering that the Japanese didn't have a whole lot of rubber for inflatable boats.

"Uhh, permission to come aboard?" I asked, standing at attention. One of the fairies, donning a dress uniform, waved me on as I slowly stepped onto the boat. I felt at least a dozen pairs of eyes upon me as I took my seat. "This is probably the least weird thing about this…" I muttered to myself.

"Desu," one of the fairies went.

It was admittedly amusing watching those tiny figures, no bigger than one of those Pop vinyl dolls or a Nendoroid, work the oars with their stubby arms and cartoonish expressions. My mother was going to have a hard time believing this, nevermind Cathy.

Reaching into one of my pockets, I took out a little pack of Smarties. It was supposed to be reserved for tonight's poker game once the watch was over, but they deserved something for their troubles.

"So, anyone want this?" I asked. The officer promptly snagged it, putting a knife through the plastic. "That's not how you open it, sir," I half-heartedly informed the fairy, before letting out a small groan and tilting my head back. "Whatever…"

"Desu!"

This was so goddamn weird, I couldn't even begin to come up with the words to describe it.

The sound of propellers in the distance drew our attention, and I noticed the distant form of an aircraft flying low, a lone patrol. As it flew overhead, I could see that it was a P-3 that had no doubt caught our message and was investigating. Well, we weren't likely to be ambushed by surface vessels, at least.

Ashigara, meanwhile, drew closer and closer, not that she was terribly far off in the first place. The boat came to a halt next to her, as she turned to look at me. "Oh, James!" She smiled, mood shifting. "I'm so happy to see you again!"

"Yeah, same," I replied, scratching the back of my head. "Not under the best of circumstances, though…" I continued, shifting my gaze towards Seawolf.

"I'm sure it'll buff out!" Ashigara cheerfully shouted.

"That anchor cut our hydrophones, and I'm not sure if we have replacements back in port."

Shigure had pulled up next to the boat, profusely apologizing for what had happened. I could hear the Captain chewing her out from here.

"Look at it from the perspective of victory!" Ashigara barked. "We can make up for what happened at the wedding!"

"You're not wrong," I replied. But the time on solid ground would likely involve reports, hearings, and disciplinary actions. And that was before repairs and replacement parts. A nasty-looking gash had been torn into the sail, and something told me Shigure desperately tried to pull her anchor back up, not helping the situation. Not exactly crippling damage, but that definitely wasn't buffing out. "So how exactly did you find us, anyway?" I asked. "Attack boats tend to vanish once they leave port and submerge."

"Pennsylvania felt really sorry for what happened and gave me stuff pertaining to your mission!"

My face paled. "Ashigara, you realize that's classified, right?"

"It was just a simple patrol, from what I read! And it's not like the Abyssals are making any big moves right now!"

"Didn't they push against Pearl?" I asked.

"It was just liberated! New Jersey and the First Carrier Division smashed them!" she smashed her fist into an open palm. "Oh, I wish I was there to take a bite out of those bastards!" She excitedly filled me in.

'That mess wouldn't have happened with some working attack boats…' I thought to myself. There was no problem in this war that couldn't have been solved with even an aging 688. And yet the Silent Service was perhaps the most heavily-fucked branch of the Navy. But still, a defeated enemy was a defeated enemy, and that brought a smile to my face. "Get wrecked, Abyssal scum…" I growled. Most of the recent contacts we encountered were of German origin, primarily zerstorers and the odd CL, and all were reported to be flying Kriegsmarine flags by the periscope operator. "Should've stayed dead."

"Damn right!" Ashigara agreed. "We'll send them all back to hell! I'll drag them with my own sinking hull if I have to!"

"Try not to raise any flags, Ashigara," I jabbed. "We already lost one CA."

"Not like I plan on sinking anytime soon!"

That confidence of hers put an amused smile on my face, as we took the time to just enjoy the moment of relative peace. The Captain's yelling had died down, and I could see damage control teams trying to wriggle poor Shigure's anchor out of the sail. A few more began popping out of the hatch with blowtorches, ready to just cut the thing. "Lemme tell you, I'm glad I'm not part of that mess."

"It it wrong for me to mention that Shigure found a book of herself doing that exact thing?"

"Using her anchor to fish for submarines?"

"Something like that."

We talked and talked, almost ignorant of the damaged boat and the Orion circling overhead, as the afternoon sun slowly dipped towards the horizon.

[=]

Slowly removing her gloved hand from her face, Myoukou wasn't sure whether to weep or laugh at what happened. On the one hand, this James didn't seem to have any hard feelings. On the other, Ashigara was likely to be dragged before a hearing.

"Is everything alright, nee-san?" Came the soft, concerned voice of Haguro, eyes wide.

"Ashigara seems to have gotten incredibly lucky," she said with a groan, before leaning herself against the wall of their dorm, a sigh escaping her. "She had a bit of an incident with the submarine her… ahh… boyfriend was stationed on."

"The one from Mutsu's wedding?"

Myoukou nodded. "Everyone seems to be okay, but I'm unsure how the Admiral will handle learning of this incident. Apparently Shigure could barely even move after what happened."

"M-May I ask what exactly happened?"

Another sigh. "Apparently, Pennsylvania felt bad over dragging Ashigara away from the wedding and James, and made it up to her by somehow providing information pertaining to where they were going to be patrolling. Ashigara, being Ashigara, somehow got Shigure involved, and now we have a damaged American submarine and a destroyer in need of a replacement anchor," she summarized curtly, before letting out a small, perhaps amused laugh. "I have no idea what this means for Ashigara, but I think Pennsylvania is going to be in for a rough time."

"Doesn't she hate us?" Haguro pointed out. "I k-keep hearing stories from Sasebo about how she's, umm, racist?" the raven-haired cruiser recalled, wringing her hands.

"She's still bitter over the war, yes," Myoukou stated, before scratching her head. "Which makes me wonder why she would provide such information to Ashigara?"

There was a moment of almost deathly silence, the two wondering if maybe Ashigara was going to be in deeper trouble than it appeared. Only Haguro thought to break it. "I-I just realized that I might be following his sister," she said, changing the subject.

"Who? James?"

Haguro nodded and smiled. "She does photography, and her pictures are really pretty!" Myoukou watched as her youngest sister took her phone out of her pocket, a few swipes and taps pulling up one of her social media apps. "Do you still have a copy of the wedding program?"

"I do," Myoukou replied with a smile, before heading into the bedroom. The program was pinned onto a board, which she promptly removed. "Ah, yes, a 'James Hunter', representing the US Navy," she called out.

"Yeah, it's his sister, alright!" Haguro hollered back. "I found a picture of the two!"

Pinning the program back, Myoukou made her way back and grabbed a pair of reading glasses, before looking over her sister's shoulder. While she didn't need them, they looked nice on her, and they certainly helped to emphasize things. "Oh yeah, it is him," she stated, remembering the out-of-context photos Ashigara had tried to show. She never really lingered on them, and it was only in hindsight that Myoukou realized what had happened. "He almost looks like Ooyodo's male American counterpart," she mused, adjusting the frames.

"Y-Yeah, I can kind of see that," Haguro agreed. He was smiling, a small grin unlike his sister's open, excited mouth.

'I miss those days' the little blurb beneath read.

"I wonder how well she's taking all of this?" Myoukou wondered, eyebrows raised in concern. But the pictures were well-done. She remembered something about how Shigure was interested in photography, and Myoukou couldn't help but feel the two would get along.

"I'm sure she's proud he's helping to fight the Abyssals," Haguro tried to reassure her. Still, something seemed off about all of this. Even the photos of this 'Cathy' seemed… distant, as if she were no longer really a part of the world around her. The photos gradually shifted away from her and her friends to empty houses, still suburbs, and faded backgrounds. It was beautiful, but tragic.

One photo was recent, being shot in a town called Peninsula, according to the accompanying text. A few small stores lined the road, with empty parking spots for cars. A train could be seen passing by in the background, black and orange engines nearly rendered invisible by the falling snow.

'Once upon a time, that was a train filled with kids and their parents, not scrap metal and chemicals.'

Myoukou guessed that some kind of a Christmas train ran through there, service no doubt cancelled. All of this was a peek into life outside of their quarters, and beyond the harbor itself. America was once again dedicating itself to war, even though its people were used to nothing but peace.

Another photo showed a mall with barely anyone shopping, and another was of an empty bedroom, a single bed in the corner and a few Lego models on a chest.

'I hope we don't have to touch it.'

"My g-goodness…" Myoukou found herself stuttering, eyes slowly growing wet.

"I'm doing my best to help her through this," Haguro said. "B-But she seems kind of… reluctant?"

"Tell her that we have the best wishes for his safety as well," Myoukou said. She couldn't help but feel that there was something even more to all of this, but the photos were already telling much of the story. A young woman fearful of losing a family member, which nearly happened from a bizarre accident rather than enemy action.

They still had to win this, no matter what.

[=]

 **A note regarding the Home Front:**

 **Everyone's eyes might be glued to the TV when a battle between Shipgirls and Abyssals breaks out, but once they change the channel or turn it off, they're forced to face the reality of a tanked economy, among other things. The Midwest was particularly hard-hit, even as formerly-abandoned steel mills are slowly re-opened in the wake of the loss of China as a trading partner. Many a disgruntled local are quite smug about it, if only because the horrifying truth has yet to be publicly revealed, though a few rumors have begun to circulate.**

 **Also, Peninsula is a real town in Ohio, nestled in the middle of the Cuyahoga Valley. Normally a tourist train runs through there, but service was suspended as a result of fuel rationing. The Wheeling and Lake Erie Railway took over operations shortly after to service new customers in Cleveland.**

* * *

The sight of her bloodied brother walking off, and with that all-too-eager freak in front of her, forced the eyes of Catherine Hunter to shoot open. Even though she didn't quite catapult up like in so many stories, she still found her hand shooting for her racing chest. Her heart was pounding hard from the nightmare she had, and it didn't want to slow down anytime soon. She sucked in air, desperate to simply calm herself and _breathe_.

It worked, slowly but surely, as a seeming eternity passed, but her heart stopped racing and she could finally take a slow, measured breath. Slowly gathering herself, Cathy turned to face her alarm clock. 5:23, it read, the numbers glowing in that seemingly standard dull red. Well, no point in falling back asleep, even if she didn't have work today.

The news of what happened with Jimmy and his sub had troubled her, knowing that a Japanese destroyer, by sheer accident, nearly sent him and God knew how many others down to the inky, cold, and crushing depths of the sea. No doubt why she had that nightmare, of being left behind aboard that sinking submarine while he and this 'Ashigara' went off, undoubtedly to have a fun old time slaughtering Chinese and Russians before retiring to wherever it was they were going to… well…

It _always_ came down to sex and violence, one way or another.

Not the first time she had a nightmare, either. She remembered one of some would festering, growing, and ultimately consuming her, and another of the Cleveland skyline burning down before her eyes.

Even on more peaceful nights, she could barely sleep, not without popping a few benadryl, anyway. Her brother was _out there_ , willing to kill and to die horribly because he wanted to make a name for himself, or whatever the hell his reasons were. She could barely remember exactly why he joined up, aside from 'not dying to a riot'. There had been protests, sure, but none around here turned violent.

But did he feel like a hero yet?

Idiot nearly died from an _accident_ , and she could see him silently panicking as his ship was crushed like a discarded pop can where nobody would find it again. He shouldn't have gone out there to fight. He should've been here, helping his family instead of running off like the goddamned _coward_ he was proving to be. Mom was just making excuses when she talked about how brave he was, and how he made a choice nobody asked of him. It was all the same propaganda that played on the recruitment ads that never shut up, especially after Hawaii was invaded.

Sliding out of her bed, Cathy grabbed her boots and tied them on, before grabbing her coat off of the closet door and stepping out. Mom was asleep across the hall, and Jimmy's bedroom was as deathly silent as it was when he left. It was an oddly-clear night, and the faint glimmer of the moonlight shone into the room, reflecting faintly off of the Lego models on his chest, as well as one other, a graduation present that became a sort of omen as to what was going on.

An old Japanese cruiser, with dark grey coating and sleek lines. Myoukou-class, if she recalled correctly.

He was oh-so-excited to see history coming alive and having a chat, even though it was all an expensive PR stunt. Battleships weren't women. They were giant piles of metal that blew similar piles out of the water. Only four were still around before, and one in any kind of a recognizable shape these days. She was watching the live broadcast when _New Jersey_ was sabotaged and blew up spectacularly. She heard about how _Missouri_ and _Wisconsin_ went down, the former swinging, supposedly against _German_ battleships. One of those Russian ships got her, no doubt. _Wisconsin_ , unsurprisingly, fell to a submarine.

Cathy may not have known what a 'phased-array radar' was, or how submarines tracked and killed their targets, but she knew, and everyone else should have, that ships from World War Two shouldn't be sailing around wreaking havoc. Aside from the museums, all were sunk or scrapped, and even if they were sailing around again, all of those stupidly-complicated anti-ship missiles should have sunk them all.

And yet people bought it, hook, line, and sinker.

Stepping away from the source of her stress, Cathy silently made her way to the patio door, quietly unlocking it and closing it behind her. The moonlight highlighted her breath in the icy winter air, and it seemed so much colder now. But the cold helped her _think_ , even though that was now difficult, as she heard the sound of steel grinding against steel echoing through the valley.

The sound grew louder, before finally reaching its almost deafening crescendo, as a pair of huge train engines, dull lights shining from their cabs, passed on by with a line of cars behind them. She could faintly make them out as tankers, their tell-tale caps jutting out above. It was no doubt heading back to the Dakotas, to provide desperately-needed fuel for America's war machine.

A fading, but aggressive-sounding horn blared off in the distance, as train car after train car rolled on by, before finally, as soon as it started, the last one passed and silence quickly fell upon the back deck.

Just when she needed to think, Cathy _couldn't_. And so she simply sat herself down onto one of the patio chairs, eyes looking east as the dawn's early light began cresting. She needed to appreciate sights like these, before they all vanished into mushroom clouds and endless fallout.

The End was indeed nigh, but not by God's hands, like so many religious preachers said, but rather by the hands of some old guys in fancy suits. The so-called 'Long Peace' had vanished with most of the US Navy, and the fires of war would soon consume all. If they could touch Hawaii, then they could touch Alaska, and rumor had it that parts of it had already fallen.

There was a game that a lot of people liked. 'Fallout', if she remembered correctly. Maybe they weren't living some stupid anime, but rather a stupid video game instead. Reality itself had become _stupid_.

"Cathy?" A voice called out from behind her. "Jimmy's on Skype and wants to talk to us. His girlfriend is also there and wants to meet you."

A sigh escaped Catherine. "Tell her that I can smell her desperation over here."

" _Cathy!_ " Her mother hissed. " _Don't get snippy!_ "

"I could see it in her eyes, mom. She's in it just to get his d—"

" _We are not doing this at five in the morning, Catherine Amanda Hunter. Get inside._ Now." Her mother growled through gritted teeth, covering her mouth and pinching her on the ear.

Cathy made her way past the computer monitor, a single finger raised as she went back to her room.

[=]

" _I'm terribly sorry about that. N-Normally Cathy isn't like that,_ " Mom profusely apologized over the screen, wide eyes on her face. Just as Ashigara sought a husband, Mom sought a grandchild. It was a win-win for the two of them, naturally.

"It's fine?" Ashigara said, eyebrow raised in confusion. Over in the other room, her other two sisters, Myoukou and Haguro, were no doubt listening eagerly, but realizing that they sailed into a minefield when they followed my sister.

Cathy wasn't taking the war well, its nature screaming _wrong_ at her. She assumed all of this to be the leadup to _Fallout_ , minus the Vaults and Nuka-Cola, in her desperation to avoid the reality of the situation: that history came alive, and dragged anime into the world of the living with it.

" _I've been trying to talk to her, and get her to calm down, but she's got too much of me in her._ "

I turned to face Ashigara. "Both Mom and Cathy are very strong-willed," I informed her. "But anyway," I faced towards the computer. "They recently got done questioning us about what happened. Suffice to say, Pennsylvania is in massive trouble, and Ashigara is not exactly going into town anytime soon. I have no clue what happened with Shigure, though."

" _Isn't she the little blonde girl who goes poi all the time?_ "

"That's Yuudachi, Mom."

I could hear a groan coming from Ashigara. "If she pois around me one more time, I'm going to poi her away with my twenty-centimeter cannons."

"Well, Pearl just weathered an apocalypse and now faces an apoicalypse," I quipped, before I felt Ashigara lightly slap me upside the head.

"That was terrible and you know it!" She pouted.

"What can I say? I got a bit of my dad's sense of humor," I smirked.

" _That he does,_ " Mom confirmed. " _So which one is Shigure, then?"_

"The one with the brown hair and the braid, very quiet. I have her captain's memoirs, remember?"

" _Oh yeah…_ " Mom recalled. _"It's still sitting on your shelf, by the way._ "

"Mmm. I'm sure Yamashiro is going to have words with her. Whatever happened before and during Surigao Strait did some _weird_ things to that bunch, and those two especially are practically inseparable," I mused.

"Glad I didn't get caught up in that mess," Ashigara shuddered. "Sometimes survival is victory enough."

"Yeah…" I agreed, mood sinking slightly. The few missions that took us north nearly ended in disaster, and I did not want to remember those moments.

A concerned hum came from Mom, before she changed the subject. " _So what kind of food do you like, Ashigara?_ "

"I can cook for myself, if that's what you're wondering," she replied, slightly offended.

"Ashigara, that's just what we _do_ ," I informed her. "Mom wants to do something nice for your troubles."

A sigh escaped her, while a small laugh left Mom. "Have you ever heard of katsudon?" the Hungry Wolf asked.

" _I kind of started looking into Japanese food when Jimmy sent those pictures of you two back home. It's… some kind of pork?_ "

"With curry and rice, yes," Ashigara filled in eagerly. "Nothing quite like a victory curry after a long day at sea!"

" _I'll have to look for it next time I'm at the store. Hopefully they have some at Market District. And speaking of shopping, is there anything you need, James?_ "

I couldn't help but laugh. "More candy would be nice. I'm running out after some bad card games."

Mom shook her head. " _Did they lose their poker chips or something?_ "

"Implying people used poker chips at all." I countered.

Another sigh left mom, as she was reminded that even within the Navy, there were wildly different groups with wildly different traditions. The Silent Service didn't do things like the Zoomies did, nor the SEALs, nor the regular sailors on the surface fleet. " _Alright,_ " she resigned herself. " _More Smarties?_ "

"Mm-hmm," I confirmed. "And some Skittles, too. No chocolate, though. That stuff melts."

" _I know, no chocolate,_ " she said in that mom tone.

"I have the chocolates handled, anyway~," Ashigara chimed in. I could hear her voice dripping with anticipation for… _future moves_. Moves that were perhaps going to be too soon for my taste, but I supposed I would have to work through it.

" _James…_ "

"We haven't done anything, mom!" I pouted.

"Yet~," countered Ashigara, who licked her lips. I could feel a finger tracing its way up my side, and I couldn't tell if this was a tease or a prelude.

" _Try not to get her pregnant too soon,_ " Mom pinched her nose. " _I'd rather you two marry before that._ "

A deep flush spread across my face, as I felt Ashigara perk up. "You're wanting us to get married?"

" _I'd rather you two do so before you start having kids. I don't want to be one of_ those _grandmas, not that I mind being a grandma in the first place._ "

I looked over and saw the Wolf's eyebrow shoot up. " _Mom was kind of born out of wedlock herself and had a rough childhood,_ " I whispered. " _But she doesn't want to be the kind of grandma who's the de facto mother._ "

"Oh."

"Anyway, I'll try and stay out of trouble, though I'm sure some special guests would love to have a chat," I said, slowly wrapping things up. "Love you, mom."

" _Yeah, I love you, too. Stay safe._ "

"Ashigara? Would you like to bring your sisters out?"

At those words, Myoukou and Haguro popped out, deep flushes on their faces. The two promptly stepped on over, as Ashigara and I vacated the couch.

The brunette invited me into the hall, where she promptly wrapped her arms around me and held me tight.

"I'm sorry about all of that, with your submarine," she quietly said. "I got ahead of myself, and—"

"Ashigara, it's okay," I cut her off, embracing her in turn. I could faintly smell perfume off of her, as well as fuel oil. An odd combination, but one I could somehow appreciate. My hand ran through her hair, soft, wavy strands filling the spaces between my fingers. "I'm okay with being with you."

"Everyone else thinks I'm desperate…"

Including my sister, most likely. "Eager, definitely, but not outright desperate. It's not like you invited me back to your place afterwards."

"Only because of Pennsylvania," she sobbed.

"Not like I would've been able to join you, though," I said. "But I would have given you my number."

A faint whimper escaped her, as I began rubbing circles along her back. She was so _short_ , but most everyone was compared to me. But she made up for it in raw _drive_. "I love you…"

"Yeah. I love you, too, Ashigara," I replied. "I mean, this feels awkward, because I've never really been with anyone before, but," I swallowed. "You've brought out something in me that I lost, long ago."

"And what was that?"

"A sense of belonging," I replied. "My family's had issues since my dad died, and I felt out of place without him. But you're being good to me, as are your sisters," I continued before letting out a long, heavy sigh. "I like being in the Navy, and the crew's been good to me as well, but there's something about _you_ , Ashigara, something I can't quite put my finger on."

She looked up at me, the faint glint of tears in her eyes. "Really?"

I nodded, before holding her ever-so-slightly tighter. "Something told me that I'd end up with one of you, and I'm glad it's you specifically."

Something about that statement sparked something in Ashigara, as her eyes brightened. "I wonder if it was fate?" She asked.

"Either way, I'm happy to be with you."

[=]

 _Another Note on the Home Front:_

 _In addition to a lack of trade with China, the loss of access to the great oilfields of the Middle East has also hit the American economy hard. In many cities, fuel rationing is now a fact of daily life. Fracking has taken the edge off, but most of that crude, once refined, goes to the armed forces, overseas to allies, or to trucking and railroad companies. Not everyone is happy with the practically haphazard drilling, however, and as such, demonstrators have become a common sight in the Plains and Mountain states._

 _As for Cathy, she's had to deal with all sorts of tragedies. Her and James' father died two years before Blood Week, and when they just recovered from that, the Abyssals reared their ugly heads and turned reality upside down. Cathy_

loathes _anime, and reality turning into one is an anathema to her worldview, where major events are usually just part of some play by the Powers That Be. But reality closes in, and better it be a shipgirl who finally breaks her already fragile worldview than the Abyssals. Thankfully the Great Lakes are safe, though many wonder if that will change…_

* * *

[=]

" _Route Ten, Howard, Portage Trail._ "

The smell of gasoline and fresh food filled the chilly winter air as Karen Hunter stepped off the crowded bus. The car had been low on gas, and she wasn't wasting it for only a handful of things, even if the route to Market District had become more convoluted. The store was brand-new, a sign of defiance against a sluggish economy. The worst of the Abyssal Recession had begun to pass, but that didn't mean things were all of a sudden pleasant. The roads were on the emptier side, which was fine by her. Traffic in this part of town was usually _hellish_ , especially this time of year.

Across State Road, she could hear some doomsday preacher rambling on about how the Abyssals were the 'Beast From the Sea' predicted by the Book of Revelation. The man didn't really care that said beast had been punched in the face repeatedly by large shells, rather than making the world kneel before it.

Letting out a small sigh, she pressed on and crossed the street, ignoring the doomsayers. She had dealt with far too many of them where she had came from, years ago. Each dealt with the world they now were a part of in their own way. Cathy was a shining example of that.

A buzz came from her phone, a text from one of Cathy's old teachers. Strange that she was checking in. Her daughter had graduated several months ago, and had no interest in college.

' _Is Cathy doing alright?_ '

Another sigh, as Karen paused and typed back.

'S _he's been even more stressed out recently. My son is dating one of the ship girls, and she thinks that Jimmy's new girlfriend is desperate._ '

' _Japanese?_ '

Karen couldn't help but let out a small laugh. ' _Of course._ '

' _I still remember him mentioning how Japanese ships had all sorts of problems._ '

Oh, the joys of her kids having the same teachers. ' _Sounds like him._ '

' _Tell Cathy I said hi, and that we're praying for her._ '

' _Alright. Take care._ '

' _You too_ '

Putting her phone back in her pocket, she pressed on. If there was one place that had a good curry mix, this had to be it. She was not going to let Ashigara go without something homemade. There were a few cars in the lot, mostly people who had the gas to spare, or who had to haul a bunch of groceries home. Most took the bus, and Metro was working to expand its services, even though a route ran not too far from home. A shame it was still a bit of a walk from her house to the stop.

The warmth of the store's heating greeted her a brief walk later, as the countless and unique smells of fresh-cooked and yet-to-be-cooked food surrounded her. Hopefully this wouldn't take long. However, her phone buzzing again got her attention. Letting out a sigh, Karen made her way to the second floor, grabbed a seat, and checked what the fuss was all about.

It was a follow request on Skype, from an admittedly handsome-looking woman named Nachi. The purple uniform meant that she was likely Ashigara's sister, the only one she hadn't talked to yet.

Well, may as well get this over with. It was definitely interesting to peer into the world of the so-called 'Shipgirls', who enamored everyone except Cathy, who thought they were but cosplayers. She had heard _stories_ about Kongou, and seen New Jersey tear into those battleships outside of Seattle while blaring rock and roll over her loudspeakers. They were a hell of a sight, on and off the battlefield. And she was one of the lucky few outside of the Navy to have an actual connection to them.

That, and she had also been told to expect something from the woman in question.

Hitting the 'accept' button, Karen was soon greeted with a DM.

' _My salutations, Mrs. Hunter. I am Nachi, of the Myōkō-class, and I hear that your son is in a relationship with my dearest younger sister._ '

If that wasn't a strong way to say hello, Karen wasn't sure what the hell was.

' _That he is,_ ' she typed back.

Karen was starting to get a feel for what she was going to be dealing with down the road with the other three. Ashigara came off as determined, ironically not unlike Cathy. Myoukou was cool-headed, and Haguro needed a hug. Nachi, however, was giving off the impression of being either highly-protective, or being all bark, and no bite.

' _I thank you for raising such a considerate gentleman. Ashigara has been seeking a man who could love her, and finally seems to have found one who can deal with her rather strong-willed nature._ '

' _He's had to deal with us._ '

' _I see._ '

Karen supposed it was inevitable that her son would end up with someone who was strong-willed. Of course, Ashigara was more open about it, while Karen and Cathy simply quietly pushed one anothers' buttons.

' _So how's New Orleans? Probably warmer than it is here._ '

' _I have not had much chance to explore the city. I do enjoy the bourbon, though._ '

A sigh escaped her, as she remembered that she had stuff to pick up. ' _I have to go right now, but we can talk later._ '

' _I bid thee farewell for now._ '

Pocketing her phone, Karen made her way downstairs, before grabbing a shopping cart. First stop, the deli.

Some time later, Karen had managed to find what she needed, and hoped would be enough to make the curry Ashigara liked. Thankfully none of what she bought needed refrigerated, or at least, not too quickly.

The doors opened, and the chill of the Ohio winter was all too happy to bring her into its embrace, even beneath her coat. Snow had begun to fall, and it would likely get worse as the afternoon went on. Quickly making her way to the bus stop, Karen was quietly thankful that she only had to wait a few minutes for the bus to arrive. All that was left was to get to Chapel Hill and board the other bus home.

Quickly swiping her pass, Karen made her way towards the back, where there were a few seats empty. She didn't mind the bus, and fewer people were rude than she feared, but it didn't make things any less claustrophobic. A myriad of sounds played, from conversations to bad rap music. As the bus passed by the Riverfront, Karen couldn't help but notice that the Christmas lights seemed _duller_ , and the Cuyahoga more _icy_. She shuddered slightly, remembering the photos of the ice floes rolling in towards Hawaii that had gone viral.

Eventually the bus made it to Chapel Hill, only for the one that was supposed to take her home not to be present. Dammit.

There were shelters, but none heated, and the building in front of her was closed off. It was going to get dark soon, and she would rather not have to be out this way after sundown, especially with this cold snap. Taking out her phone, she noticed a rather curious offer from Nachi.

"I think I'm going to need to call off work," she quietly said to herself.

[=]

Letting out a contented sigh, Nachi set her phone down for the moment, trying to think of what else to say. Civilians weren't usually allowed onto active military bases, but that didn't mean they couldn't stay nearby. Indeed, Karen could be incorporated into the Meet-and-Greet the Admiral had planned, after he had caught wind of what was going on with Cathy, thanks to a minor social media debacle between the young woman and Myoukou. He laughed at the absurdity of the situation, but realized it would be a good idea to have herself and the others meet the civilian populace directly. While they were ships, that didn't mean they sat at dock until it came time to sortie, not in this form.

The only thing they really needed was a venue, though suitable ones weren't exactly hard to find. It would also make up for the statement Kaga had made, of not hesitating to kill herself should the Americans request it. She had no doubt visited the site of _Arizona,_ even though the ship in question had long returned, and was known to be friends with a few of her Japanese counterparts, such as Hiei, Mutsu, and Shimakaze.

Of course, Nachi, as well as Atago and the four Kagerō sisters of DesDiv 17, weren't exactly famous. Everyone knew who New Jersey, Kongou, Yuudachi, and the destroyers of Taffy-3 were, but not her group. Even her own sister, Ashigara, was an unknown outside of Japan, where her determined quest for a spouse went on until recently, when she met an American submariner, setting all of this in motion.

"Pan-paka-pan~!" Came the sunny voice of Atago. "Is something up, Nachi?"

"I was having a conversation with someone," Nachi replied, crossing her arms. "This business doesn't concern you at the moment."

"Is it over Ashigara~?" The blonde inquired, before letting out a giggle.

"How—"

"Information spreads fast, you know~!" She cut her off. How rude. "Ashigara has a boyfriend, just like 'Laska!"

A small sigh escaped Nachi. Alaska was as happy as she could be with Young by her side, and there was also Saratoga and Daniel Stewart. Speaking of, she still needed to download and read _Destiny_.

"Indeed she does," Nachi replied. "An American submariner."

"I didn't quite learn all of the details, so can I ask if he lives around here?" Atago beamed.

Nachi shook her head, before facing her counterpart. "No, though it would be convenient," she answered. "He and his family live near…" she paused, before looking at her phone, pulling up the profile of Hunter's mother. "A town called Akron."

"Ooh, the city Akron was named for!" Atago said. "I hear she's been hoping to go there so she could get a refit!"

"We're on a base meant to support us. I doubt they have any facilities meant to handle kanmusu," Nachi furrowed her brow.

"Ships can be handled here, but not _air_ ships!" The blonde stated. "I hear there's hangers that should be able to handle Akron up that way and give her a refit!"

Another sigh escaped Nachi, who decided to take Atago's word for it. "I presume the K-Blimps will handle ASW in the meantime?"

"Of course~!" Atago giggled. "Though I still don't like how mean they get…"

Nachi let a small smirk grow on her face. Those 'blimpcats' were indeed cruel creatures, fussy and ready to sink their claws into whatever they could find. They also didn't get along with the contingent of PT Corgis stationed here, with the barking and hissing having roused Nachi from her sleep more than once.

"Anyway, where was I?" Asked Atago, a look of confusion on her face.

"I believe you were inquiring as to my sister's new significant other."

"Oh! Right!" Atago shouted, before sitting herself on the desk chair. "What do you think of him~?" She inquired, leaning in, hands on her chin.

A deep breath escaped Nachi. "I've yet to talk to him personally, but as long as he doesn't break my sister's heart or try to do her harm, all should be fine."

"I think they're gonna get married~!" Atago giggled. "And have a whole bunch of kids, too~!"

Nachi took a moment to think upon that. Nieces and nephews, running around some American suburb raising all sorts of hell. Of course, there was no telling if they would be ordinary children, or be carrying 8" rifles and oxygen torpedoes like their mother, or worse. Mutsu would be giving birth fairly soon, but until her twins arrived, the nature of any children born to a kanmusu was very much open.

"I honestly wouldn't mind being an aunt," Nachi replied. "I had always figured that if any of my sisters were to bear children, it would either be Ashigara or Haguro."

"And what about you?"

Until the revelation that Mutsu had become pregnant, Nachi never gave much thought towards children. A spouse, perhaps, but unlike Ashigara, she could wait. But children of her own, with her eyes, or her hair, or her personality…

" _Mama? Can you play with me?_ "

" _Of course, sweetie! You're growing up to be so strong, like I am!_ "

" _I wanna be a ship like you when I grow up! I wanna play ship!_ "

" _Then let's get into formation! Follow m—_ "

"—i? Nachi?" Snapping out of her thoughts, Nachi saw Atago waving her hand in front of her face. "Is everything alright?"

Quickly composing herself, Nachi brushed the other cruiser off. "I'm fine, Atago."

"Really? Didn't seem like it~."

Nachi let out a sigh before opening the drawer by her bed. A bottle of whiskey called 'Fireball,' which had a nice, cinnamon-y aftertaste. "Care for one?"

"I'm on the night patrol with Hamakaze and Urakaze. I shouldn't," Atago quietly objected.

"Your loss," Nachi replied, before filling a shot glass. Yeah, that wasn't bad stuff.

"Also, 'Laska and Sara should be getting back tomorrow," Atago informed her.

Nachi let out a small sigh. She wouldn't envy the poor bastards who had to clean up the planes they would be travelling on. "Good," she said flatly. They still needed their heavier ships should something like Atomic Battlecruiser Princess show up, though, and the only other unit with capital ships was a Royal Navy squadron in the British Virgin Isles. There had also been some rumblings from the few merchantmen who made port here, of something brewing in the Atlantic. "Is there anything else I should be informed of?"

Atago pursed her lips, placing a finger on them. "The Admiral wants to try a summoning attempt in a few days. He figures we could use an extra destroyer or two."

A low hum left Nachi. "I concur in that regard, though a light or escort carrier would be welcome, too."

"I'll put your recommendation in."

[=]

Catherine Hunter awoke from her nap, pretty much the only restful sleep she could get nowadays. Mom was supposed to get back soon, and with her, the food that was to be sent all the way to Japan, for Jimmy's 'girlfriend'. She was _still_ in shock over how he fell for one of those women, and someone she suspected would ditch him the moment she got bored.

That wasn't to say he wouldn't be a loving husband. He was a little absent-minded at times, but he usually knew how to do the right thing. But the woman he ended up with, the one who somehow got him to fucking _dance_ , when he _refused_ to do so because he 'didn't want to make an ass out of himself'…

Her train of thought was stopped by the sound of her phone's ringtone, the display reading 'Mountain Mama.'

 _Country roooooaaaaaaddds, take me hooooommmmme, to the plaaaaaccceeee I beloooonnnnnggg!  
_

"Hello?"

" _Hey, Cathy,_ " Mom answered. " _I just got off the bus. Can you unlock the front door and turn on the porch light?_ "

" _Yeah, I can do that,_ " Cathy replied. " _Be seeing you in a couple minutes,_ " she yawned.

" _Alright. And can you take the trash can out to the curb while you're up?_ "

"Mm-hmm."

" _Thank you, Cathy. Love you._ "

"Yeah. Love you, too, mom."

The phone beeped, before Cathy ended the call on her end. Forcing herself out of bed, she threw her coat on and flipped the switch by the front door, before stepping outside and dragging the trash can to the edge of the driveway. Snow was falling steadily, as the sun went down and darkness fell.

Her breath hung in the air, highlighted only by the lights from the house. Looking to her right, she could see her mother making her way up the street, flashlight shining brightly. Things seemed a little calmer now, in spite of what happened.

"You didn't have to wait for me, you know," her mother ribbed, shutting off her flashlight.

Cathy shrugged, before starting to make her way back into the house.

"Is something wrong?" Her mother asked.

"Nothing," Cathy replied. "Just tired."

The two stepped inside, the relative warmth of the house embracing them. The sound of boots kicking off snow echoed through the living room, before Cathy's mother picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

" _—expecting about eight to ten inches in the snow belt tonight, and about six to eight in northern Medina, Summit, and Portage Counties. The National Weather Service has said this likely was triggered by the recent Invasion of Hawaii disrupting weather patterns…_ "

What a bunch of _bullshit_.

"Glad I got those groceries when I did," her mother remarked. "God, is it gonna be a mess…"

Her mother stepped into the kitchen, the crinkling of the reusable bags sounding as the rice, pork, and curry mix were removed and put away.

Cathy sat herself on the couch, grabbing the remote and looking through the TV guide. Ooh, Nick was airing an _iCarly_ marathon.

"Nice try," her mother smirked as she swiped the remote. Dammit…

The channel was changed to USA, playing the endless reruns of _NCIS_ , as usual.

Her mother sat herself down on the recliner, grabbing her Kindle from the side pocket. Like many she knew, her mother was entranced by that book series, _Changing Destiny_. Cathy somehow forced herself to finish the first book, but most of it went over her head. Something about a ship having boobs, time travel, a plot by time travellers to kill Hitler (wasn't that a _Doctor Who_ episode?), and Pearl Harbor starting a week before it happened in reality.

In short, it was probably going to be adapted by Michael Bay, who would consider such a thing to be beyond his wildest dreams of America, Boobs, and Explosions.

But there was something in the air, a certain calm before the storm. She could hear the wind gusting outside, alongside the windchimes singing away. It wasn't the weather, though. Something was on her mother's mind, her eyebrows furrowed as she swiped on the screen. Her eyes widened, no doubt caught by a plot twist.

"Something going on, mom?" Cathy asked.

"I'm reading the book, and…" she took a deep breath. "I'm not sure how to explain this to you. You never cared too much for this stuff, but there were three battleships lost at Pearl Harbor—"

"Not the book," Cathy cut her off impatiently. "Is there something else going on?"

Her mom's eyes widened, as she remembered something. "Oh, thank you for reminding me!" Her mother exclaimed. "I got a Skype message from Nachi, one of Ashigara's sisters, and she wants us to come down to New Orleans and meet her."

Cathy felt her stomach drop. They may as well meet her at an anime convention. "I'm not going," she stated bluntly.

"Cathy, you're too young—"

"I'm _eighteen_ , mom!" She pouted. "You let Jimmy go out and get _shot at_ , and I'm treated like I'm _five_!"

"He had some time to mature a little," her mom countered.

"He was in it to get laid!" She yelled. "And now we're being _dragged_ to New Orleans—"

"We aren't being dragged, Cathy, and believe it or not, but your brother very much loves that woman, and he's probably going to marry her. We need to know who we're going to be dealing with once he does," she stated firmly, rising from her seat. "I don't know what has gotten into your head, but—"

"Gee, maybe it's because Jimmy's going to _die_!?" Cathy stated, rising as well. "The Navy _vanished_ , and he's going to vanish, too!" She shouted, tears welling in her eyes.

"Cathy…"

"He's a fuckin' _idiot_!" She wailed. " _We_ needed him, not this country, and he decided to fuck off and _a-abandon_ us anyway!" She sank to her knees, trying to wipe away at the tears in her eyes. "W-We had this conversation b-before, so I dunno why you act so _surprised_ …"

The next thing she felt was her mother's embrace. "I'm not, Cathy," she said. "We'll get through this."

Not with the faint scent of death in the air.

[=]

To see Jintsuu-mama with such a sad face didn't make Jane Richardson happy. Was it over Sendai?

"Oh, Jane," she greeted. "I almost didn't notice you. I'm terribly sorry," she bowed. "Do you need something?"

"Are you sad, Jintsuu-mama?" Jane asked. "You look that way."

Her frown turned into a small smile, as a small laugh left her. "I'm quite alright, just a little concerned is all," she replied. "I was told by Myoukou that Ashigara's new boyfriend has a sister who isn't taking his deployment well."

"Really?" Jane asked. She knew that many sailors had families back home, who wanted their spouses, children, parents, and siblings to be safe. She felt much the same way when Jintsuu and the others sortied, hoping they could return home safely.

"Yes. She lives well inland, and apparently doesn't understand why her brother chooses to fight."

"Why?" Jane asked, confused and surprised. "The Abyssals are evil, and they want to kill everyone."

"I'm not sure," she said. "Perhaps it's because she doesn't live near the sea, and hasn't been subjected to shelling or bombing raids. But it troubles me because even during the last war, when our countries were enemies, our peoples were still proud to send their sons to fight. With everything at stake, she should be proud that he's willing to lay down his life if it keeps her safe."

Jane looked down. She remembered her father, before the war, sometimes talking to someone about 'war fatigue,' or how fewer people wanted to serve their country. "Maybe I can send her something to cheer her up?" She asked.

"Like what, may I ask?"

"Chibis!" Jane suggested. "I can summon some chibis and send them her way!"

Jintsuu smiled, laughing. "I'm not sure if Chibis will truly fix it, but they may help."

"And maybe I can have her talk to you, too!"

"I think she wouldn't want to take a phone or Skype call from someone as young as you, even if you're on your way to being an Admiral," Jintsuu quietly replied.

"But I _am_ the Admiral!" She playfully pouted.

"Not yet," Jintsuu smirked, before patting her head. Jane couldn't help but laugh. She had her own fleet, but they were small, not big. One day she would be the Admiral, but until then, she just had to make do with her growing armada. "But still, maybe the chibis aren't a bad idea. Do you have an address?"

 _From: Jane Richardson, US Fleet Activities Sasebo, Sasebo, Japan_

 _To: Catherine Hunter, PO Box 21, Munroe Falls, Ohio, United States, 44262_

 _I heard you were sad and missed your brother, so I sent you some friends to keep you company! Take good care of them, please!_

 _With love,_

 _Jane Richardson_

 _RDM John Richardson, US Navy_

 _JS Mutsu_

 _JS Jintsū_

 _JS Hiei_

 _JS Yamato_

 _JS Shimakaze_

 _USS Arizona (BB-39)_

[=]

 _On the Home Front (Part 3)_

 _Bills trying to expand public transit have been pushed, especially by the Democrats in the wake of fuel rationing, but there have been numerous debates between passing them, or more emergency naval construction bills. Amtrak, meanwhile, is all too eager to take advantage of the airline industry being kicked between the legs, but aren't in the position to do so, having their feet stepped on by freight carriers and few people being in the mood to travel to traditional tourist locales, like Los Angeles or Miami._

 _Meanwhile, many religious groups are divided on the Abyssal War and shipgirls. Some, naturally, consider it to be a sign of the End Times. Others see the shipgirls as Angels sent to cleanse the seas from those who dared escape Hell. Some Muslims consider the shipgirls to be a form of mu'aquuibat (Guardian Angels), though an immodestly-dressed one. Still others are completely dumbstruck, never considering ships to be alive in the first place, regardless of whether they've held any particular faith or not._

 _War fatigue from over a decade spent trying to pacify the Middle East has also taken its toll on the American populace. The Abyssals struck at a bad time, with many still having bitter recollections of the events in Iraq and Afghanistan. Coupled with the fact that this is largely a naval war, recruitment hasn't been the best, which is bad considering the Invasion of Hawaii has spooked America's military command. If the Abyssals can try and take Hawaii, they can make an attempt against Los Angeles or New York, and that fear, of civilians jam-packed onto the interstates like cattle lined up for slaughter, among countless other potential horrors, casts a shadow over both the Pentagon and the White House._


	72. An Officer and His Dogs 1

**Uploader's Note:** For those of you who came from the forums, thank you for rereading here. More importantly, it seems this uploaded story has caught the attention of Admiral_Corgi him(?)self, one of the better writers on the forums. They approached me directly, giving me permission (and what feels like a firm suggestion) to post it here. After all, good folks deserve to read good stories, right? So, I'm putting his note in, as well. About **9,900 words.**

* * *

 **Admiral_Corgi, 11OCT2018:** Well folks, after seeing how many of ya'll like the preview. Though I did have to make a slight change to some of the things seen in the preview to make thing flow better here in the full omake, it isn't anything major. Anyways here's the full omake. I hope ya'll enjoy this. And don't worry, I'm 93% certain that the next one of these I write won't be anywhere near as long as this first one was! I promise!

 **Omake: An Officer and his Dogs**

* * *

[=]

William jolted awake in his bed, his breathing was labored and his heart thundered against his ribcage, sweat was beaded all over his face and pooled on around his back before soaking into the sheets. He blinked several times and rubbed his face with his hands to clear away the vestigial remnants of the nightmare he had. A few seconds later he felt a small but heavier than expected and warm paw lightly scratched at his chest, which further pulled his thoughts away from the nightmare he had awoken from.

Pulling his hands from his face, A glance down revealed the Corgi that was sleeping at the foot of his bed was now awake and pawing at him, even with his darkness adjusted eyes it was almost impossible to see the dog's features in the near complete darkness.

"Its okay boy, it was just a bad dream, that's all." He said to dog in the dark as he rubbed the top of its head with one hand and scratched its ear with the other. The Corgi leaned into the touch and William could feel it wag its tail, the dog seemingly satisfied with his answer and the affection; jumped off the bed and waited by the door.

William glanced over to his alarm clock and noted the time was 0315. He groaned slightly as he realized he woke a full hour before his alarm was set to wake him, again and only managed to get 4 and a half hours of sleep, again. However, he couldn't go back to bed, even if he wanted to, now that he was up. It was time to start the day.

"I know, just make sure everyone else is up by the time I get outta the shower dressed alright?" William said to the dog as he opened the door to his quarters and allowed the Corgi out of his room, the dog gave him a short cheerful bark before trotting out the open door. William closed it again and then made his way to his quarters' personal shower.

A few minutes and one hot shower later, he was dressing into his NWU's, though before he pulled his pants up, he looked at the scar on his right thigh. A ragged, jagged line of angry pink that stretched from near the top of his knee to a few inches shy of the bottom of his hip. One of the constant reminders to him of that week, that first god awful week and what he went through back then.

Shaking his head to dispel the memories that threatened to bubble up, he pulled up and buttoned his trousers before he finished getting dress. Once he was presentable, he strode out of his quarters and down the hall that opened up to the rest of the building, past the doors quartered the other members of his group. Quiet shuffles of pawed feet clued him in that the PT boats were waking up and climbing out of their beds. The fact that the lights were on in the Kitchen area and he could smell the coffee even from the other end of the building meant only one thing. Gunnery Sergeant Clayton was already up and about.

As he strolled across the open room that served as the PT Corgi sleeping area to the open kitchen, William was already thinking about the day ahead. The reports he'd have to write up and send to his superiors, the post-patrol reports the returning night rotation would give him. The more immediate issue of feeding the 48 PT Corgis of the Day rotation before they headed out for their 12 hour shift. And much much more, however, all of that was to the wayside for the time being. He couldn't do much of anything without coffee, and he needed a damn cup of coffee right now.

"Thanks Jim." William said to Gunnery Sergeant Clayton as the Marine handed him a mug of black coffee. A single sip sent the last lingering vestiges of his sleepiness fleeing like the morning fog before the hot summer sun. "Extra strength?" He asked inquisitively to the Gunny. Who only nodded before he walked over to the stove and began preparing something.

"Yep, Figured you needed it, Wallace, because you kinda look like shit man," Clayton said as he cracked some eggs into a pan and began frying them. William didn't bristle or get angry at Clayton's behavior or the casual usage of his middle name, partly because the two of em had been friends for years even before they both had entered the Armed Forces. Partly because he had told his friend to drop the formalities either when nobody else was around or when he needed Clayton to tell him exactly how things were without sugar coating it. The later, Clayton was particularly good at. Letting a soft sigh pass his lips, William took another hearty sip of the black elixir.

"I guess you're right Jim, didn't get much sleep again," William said with a measure of resignation to his voice, life hasn't been easy in the area around New Orleans since Pearl fell, even though he had heard that Pearl was just recently liberated. It'd still probably be a few days at best, or a week or more at worst before the shipgirls that were normally stationed in the Gulf returned. In the meantime, his PT boats would have to try to fill in the gaps as best as possible. Or least, take some of the burdens off of the ship girls still stationed here in the Gulf Region.

His PT boats were roaming as far west as Galveston, Texas and as far east as Panama City, Florida; from their home station of Port Fourchon. Admittedly only having two squadrons going east and two going west meant the day and night Rotations were rather thinly spread out themselves when they sortied. But it did mean that some of the pressure on the remaining Destroyers and Cruisers stationed in the Gulf was eased ever so slightly. William was pretty sure all the Dogs understood that clearly. They often showed themselves far smarter and more resourceful than one would expect from a dog. William always figured it was because of the nature of PT boat operations during WWII that gave them those traits.

After he finished his mug of Coffee and the fried eggs Gunnery Sergeant Clayton was kind enough to make for the both of em. The two heard the sounds of the other five members of their rag-tag crew waking up and walking out of their rooms. "Jeez don't ya two ever sleep?" Came the disbelieving voice of Petty Officer Third Class Simon Lake. "Early risers get the best pickings Petty Officer Lake," William said with just a tad bit of sarcasm to his voice.

The petty officer grumbled something about sleep as he and other four dog handlers made themselves a quick cup of coffee and a bite to eat. As they did, William and Gunnery Sergeant Clayton when about feeding the PT Corgis, it wasn't a full meal because the dogs' fuel reserves weren't depleted, but it was a top off before they went to go on their 12-hour patrol shift.

William didn't mind handling the bags of dog food and helping out with filling the bowls. He'd do the same thing that the men under him would unless it was something he couldn't do himself, the men and it also seemed like the dogs themselves respected him for that. Though he did admit that life for him and his men would be easier if they had a few more people on hand to handle the workload.

After the last of the dogs were fed and the other members of his unit had a quick bite to eat, it was a few minutes to 0445. Which now meant he needed to get moving, by the time the dogs were fitted into their rigging and assembled at the landing, the night rotation would be coming in. William looked at Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, who only gave him a nod before gathering his marines to help set out food for the returning night rotation.

William headed towards the equipment shed with Petty Officer Lake and Warrant Officer Sanderson, the 48 PT dogs of the day rotation followed hot on their heels. As the three Navy men entered the shed and flipped the lights on, they started pulling riggings off their racks and stacked them on carts according to who was fitting out which PT boat. The PT Corgis for their part were coming through the dog door in a neat ordered line arranged by squadron and waited for the Navy men to affix their rigging to them.

William had seen twice before in the past how involved putting on a ship girl's rigging could be when he was in New Orleans. He was thankful that the process of helping the Corgis put their rigging on wasn't any nearly as involved. Actually, the process itself was far more like putting a doggy life vest on the PT boats than assembling a mysterious piece of equipment on the dogs. The procedure was simple enough on paper, he and Petty Officer Lake would take a vest and buckle it onto a PT Corgi before letting the dog go to Warrant Officer Sanderson, who'd do the final check to make sure everything was on snugly before letting the dog walk out of the shed's exit door.

Even though the process was simply on paper, and in practice, the sheer number of PT Corgis meant the three of them had to be very swift in their motions to get everything done on time. Almost fifteen minutes of Organized Chaos later saw the three men exit the equipment shed, Warrant Officer Sanderson and Petty Officer Lake jogged back to the PT boat Barracks to give Gunnery Sergeant Clayton's Marines extra help with setting up the meal the returning night rotation would utterly demolish.

As for William himself, he looked at the assembled PT boats to make sure all were present and then he started down toward the concrete landing of the floating dock. The PT dogs silently followed him in formation. It wasn't terribly far of a walk from the equipment shed to the dock landing, and the morning coolness certainly made the trek more bearable. But it still was roughly 200 feet of walkway to cross.

Recently built walkway. Just about everything military related here was built within the last year and a half. All of it a response to Abyssal threat posed against the Gulf region.

William knew this place wouldn't ever become a proper Navy Port, at least not anytime soon. The current setup and layout of the oil facilities present here precluded that, and they were too critically important to the war-effort to dismantle and move further inland. So the Military compromised and turned the wetlands area around and to the west of the port into an ad-hoc Naval base. Most of the Major Facilities were located just to the west of the port itself, though his section of the base was practically right in front of the oil and pipeline facilities.

There were a few more shore batteries and AA guns in his area of the base than the others to better protect the oil and pipeline facilities but William knew that it probably wouldn't be enough to repel a determined abyssal force that managed to get past the Maritime air patrols, the conventional ships that patrolled the waters around the base, and the PT Corgis stationed here. Really speaking, this base was just the advance warning for the Main Gulf Theater operations base in New Orleans in the event of a Major Abyssal assault. In a cynical sense, they were meant to buy as much time as possible for New Orleans to muster up a proper defense.

He shook his head slightly to dispel those thoughts from his mind. He didn't need to dwell on thoughts like that, especially now since he could just see silhouetted by the early morning sun, the PT Dogs of the night rotation coming in. A quick look at his watch read 0525, pretty much right on time. William walked forwards from the dock landing out onto the floating dock itself, he walked the entire 150-foot length of the floating dock and waited at its edge for the night rotation to come in.

He didn't have to wait much longer, as the dogs came up the edge of the dock in three neat ordered lines of sixteen. "Patrol boats, permission to come ashore granted. Fall in and get some chow, Squadron leaders, make sure patrol reports are in my office by 0745." He said to them before they climbed up onto the docks and hurried along up the dock to the landing to form up in their groups before dashing off to the PT Barracks.

He watched them for a short bit as he came back to the dock landing with the last trio of PT boats from the night rotation. He always tried to catch sight of the moment where their rigging vanished into thin air, but alas he's never once yet seen it happen. This morning wouldn't be different from all the others in that regard.

Turning his attention away from the retreating forms of the night rotation and towards the day rotation, he started walking down the length of the floating dock once again, the PT boats of the Day rotation following close behind him, and as he reached the end of the dock he turned to his side to allow the dogs to Pass by.

"Patrol Boats, Permission to Sortie Granted, return here by 1700. Watch yourselves out there, and come back safe." William said to the Corgis before they stepped off the dock and onto the water. As they formed up into their squadrons they departed with headings towards their designated patrol areas. William himself remained on the dock for a couple of minutes after the last of the PT dogs had formed up and departed with their squadron before he started his way back to the PT Boat barracks.

He'd see if there was anything he could do to help Clayton and the others with feeding the night rotation. Unlike the day rotation who had just half a scoop more dog food than what'd one normally expect to feed a Corgi for the day to top off their fuel reserves. The Night Rotation was running on close to empty.

Individually, a hungry PT Corgi couldn't even eat as much as a Destroyer ship girl could, unless the rumors he'd heard on the grape vine about the Akizuki-class were true. However a pack of 48 Hungry PT Corgis could probably make more than a handful of battleships balk at just how much food they could utterly demolish.

As He reached the PT Boat Barracks, William was greeted by the tail end of the controlled chaos that was feeding a returned patrol rotation. There wasn't much for him to do besides help Pfc Ellen and Sergeant Banks carry out the two dozen or so empty 55 pound bags of dry dog food to the dumpster. As well as move about three and half dozen more bags from the Storehouse to the Barracks Building proper.

William didn't mind doing this kind of work, though he did strongly believe that his group needed at least a few more people with the correct qualifications around to ease the workload. But then again, the tempo of operations here was several times higher than it normally was, because his Dogs had to pick up the slack left behind by Alaska's and Saratoga's departure from the Gulf for the effort to retake Pearl.

As William returned to the Barracks building and made his way over to his office, he wondered how much longer his rag-tag crew could keep up the pace of operations, he wondered how much longer the Dogs could take this tempo too. They've been able to manage for the past two and a half weeks, but he could see the fatigue starting to build up and it was only a matter of time before something gave. Or the stockpile of dry dog food ran out.

William took small comfort in the fact that at, the very least, the Barracks building and its rooms were air-conditioned. If they hadn't been, William knew that morale here for both Human personnel and the dogs would be rock-bottom. Letting a heavy, tired sigh out the Lieutenant sat down at his desk and opened up the laptop that rested on it. A quick check of the Email confirmed that nothing major was developing...yet.

Though he did see news regarding Pearl, that during the effort to retake the base and right after the base was retaken several shipgirls were summoned, Several battleships at that. Which good news, very good news for William, maybe his PT Corgis and Support Staff can finally catch a much-needed break in the very near future. Though he did pause when he saw that among the ships that had returned, Missouri and Wisconsin were amongst them. His eyes flicked back to reread the statement in the email again to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

When William realized what he was reading was indeed real, a happy smile broke across the Lieutenant's face with a very relieved sigh. USS Wisconsin always had a special place in William's heart, she was the first museum ship he had ever visited back when he was a kid, and it was that visit to her that started his fascination with the Navy, which ultimately led him to join the Navy once he was out of High school, almost Seven years before this War had started. He had been devastated when News broke that she was sunk but felt a sense of pride that she went down with Zero hands aboard her.

Now seeing that she has returned, he felt that he could probably start sleeping easier at night in the near future, even if Wisconsin was reassigned to guard the Panama Canal again. A small scratchy tap broke him from his thoughts, he blinked and looked up from his screen. "Enter." He calmly said one of the PT Corgis came into the room through the dog door. William rolled his chair back a bit to be able to reach down and take the small stack of large postage stamp sized papers the Fairy standing on top of the Corgi's head held out for him. They were the post-patrol reports he had asked for earlier.

A glance at the wall clock showed that it was 0720. He briefly wondered how just how long had he actually been staring at his emails, but only briefly. He watched the Fairy move to the Corgi's collar before disappearing behind it. "Thanks," he said to the dog before giving him a few pats on the head and a couple scratches under the chin. The dog made a happy sound and then left the room. William placed the small stack of reports on his desk, he carefully picked one up and read it. Somehow, though means he had long ago given up trying to explain, he was able to read the details of the report perfectly well despite the super-tiny print and every word in it was 'Bork'.

William wasn't sure why he was the only one out of his ad hoc unit to be able to see the Fairies at all times when they wanted to show themselves and understand them clearly whenever they decided to speak. Though he figured it was a question whose answer would only confuse him even further than the concept of it already had. He took some comfort that his friend Gunnery Sergeant Clayton had seen the fairies once or twice before as well. At least then William knew his job hadn't made him gone crazy yet.

Thus he started the process of compiling the PT Corgis patrol reports into an overall report of what was going on in the Gulf last night. The consensus was, things had been quiet lately, the only real thing of note was that there was a brief sighting of an Abyssal Submarine 90 miles from the shoreline and 120 miles east of Galveston but that was quickly run down and depth charged to oblivion in the shallows by PT Squadron 3. Though they did loiter around the area until a destroyer came by and made certain the monster was well and truly dead. After all, PT boats didn't have many Depth charges, to begin with.

William didn't realize how much time had passed by the time he had finished transcribing and compiling the post-patrol reports from the Night Rotation, sent the report in an email to his superior, and then fill out several requisition forms for additional supplies. The normal stuff really, Dog Food, tools and parts for Warrant Officer Sanderson needed to do better maintenance on the PT's rigging. The Lieutenant sighed again as he filled out another form personnel request form, he needed someone else who could do the kind of work Sanderson did and was trained to handle dogs. If for nothing else than to ease the workload Sanderson had.

"Poor Mitchel, he's just as or even more overworked than I am." William murmured quietly to himself as he sent the myriad of electronic forms to the inbox of the logistical department. Before he could think further on how much longer his weapons specialist could keep up with the demands of making sure 96 sets of rigging were still working in proper order with the current intensity of operations. A knock on his office door, this one heavier and distinctive, tore him from his thoughts. "Enter."

"Hey, Braveheart, you lost track of time again. It's 1525." Came the rather gruff voice of Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, in one hand was a tray of food, possibly from the base Mess Hall proper. And it was then that William realized that he hadn't eaten much of anything since waking up. Though a mildly annoyed expression crossed the lieutenant's face as the Gunnery Sergeant came in and placed the tray and a glass of ice water on his desk before taking a seat.

"Thank you, Jim, though did you have to use that nickname?" William said as he took a big bite out of a slice of Pizza. "Would ya have preferred me using one of the new nicknames the enlisted on base came up for you instead. Sir?" Came the reply from Clayton, a smug expression on his own, an expression of sudden dread and gloom appeared on William's at the statement.

"Do I even want to know what today's nickname is even?" William asked before he demolished the rest of the pizza and drank half the water in one go. "No, you probably don't want to know Sir, just know it won't be a problem when you next go to mess hall." Clayton said with all seriousness in his voice.

"Jim, what have I said about keeping formalities when its just us? For Pete's sake we've been friends for so long we may as well be brothers. But...thank you for that. I honesty don't need any more nicknames than what I already have." William said to the marine with a bit of exasperation, He sighed and placed his now empty tray off to the side. "Anyways what's up? Besides bringing my forgetful overworked ass chow, you usually got a good reason to stick around in my office." The lieutenant asked.

"You heard the news about Pearl sir?" Clayton asked curiously.

"I have." Came the sharp reply from the Lieutenant.

"So do you think we'll be getting any relief any time soon William? The Dogs do good work at helping to fill in the gaps when the heavies departed for Pearl but they need some down time to recuperate, Earlier I had to walk half of PT Squadron 1 over to that ship girl repair dock the base has because they weren't running right. Hell, I dare say some of em might be ready for a rebuild or something hell if I know for certain William, just something seems different with most of Squadron 2." Clayton said with some measure of frustration. William knew Clayton hated not understanding things and everything regarding stuff like Ship girls, and PT Corgis was still very much a learning process for everybody involved. Even almost a year and a half after the Navy figured out the secret to summoning US ships back.

William gave a sigh and a thoughtful expression for a few moments before he spoke. "I don't know Jim, you and I both know all too well how the Brass is like. We can only hope that some of the Heavies are flying back here now. But being realistic, its probably gonna be a week at the least before things get back to anything that resembles normal around here." William said to his life long friend with frustration of his own.

"I know and don't worry William, just because those beautiful heavies are just around the corner to being back in the Gulf with some new faces. Doesn't mean I'll drop my guard or let anyone else drop theirs, even you sir." Clayton said with a wide grin.

"Thanks, Clayton, I appreciate it." William said to the other with relief. He was glad to know his best pal and confidant wouldn't let him or anyone else slip up in their duties when the promise of some measure of relief was just around the corner. Though as William finished one last form for the day, at least till the Day rotation came in a roughly an hour and a half from now anyways, a devious devilish smirk appeared on Clayton's face. Which made William freeze up, he knew what that smirk meant. Clayton was about to troll him something fierce, but William couldn't figure was what the hell the marine was going to troll him with... 'Oh god no! Please tell me he doesn't know!' was the Lieutenant's panicked thought.

"Sooo I heard that among the ships that returned when the Navy retook Pearl was USS Wisconsin~"

"Jim please no-" Begged William, futilely at that, as he felt his face starting to get flushed. He knew Clayton, and Clayton sure as hell knew the feelings William had about USS Wisconsin since they were both kids.

"I've seen that Fleet Idol's twitter lately, Whisky sure does look cute William~" Now Jim was mentally knocking the wind out of William before dealing the final blow.

"Jim! Don't you-" William tried to warn his friend, but alas Jim was always quicker when it came to delivering the final line.

"Maybe I can get that Idol to get the two of ya to meet up~" Jim finished with a almost evil smile plastered on his face as he got up and sprinted out of the Lieutenant's office. The statement had stunned William such that he didn't realize Jim had left the room until after he heard the door close. It took all of a second for the full weight of Jim's statement to be realized by William. When it was...

"GUNNERY SERGEANT CLAYTON!" Came the embarrassed and fuming shout from William. If anyone else outside of the often nicknamed 'Dog Squad' heard the Lieutenant's shout, they would swear that it sounded like an angry dog's bark or a shout not out of place on a sitcom from the 60's or 70's.

The other members of the rag-tag PT boat Support unit, didn't pay the shout any mind. Partly because they knew how well and for how long The Gunnery Sergeant and the Lieutenant had known each other. Part of it was due to the Gunny telling everyone else what his plan was when he'd visit the Lt. And lastly they all had bets on how the Lieutenant would take Clayton's trolling. And Pfc Ellen just won the entire pot.

Realizing that there was nothing now he could do to stop the Gunnery Sergeant, if the Gunny was planing on actually carrying through with his word. Jim had BS'd him enough times in the past that there was a slim chance that his old friend wouldn't actually contact that quadruple-dammed traffic cone to arrange a meet up with the Iowa-Class Battleship. But then again on the other hand, he knew his friend far too well. William pinched the bridge of his nose hard and sighed yet again.

"At this goddamn rate, I'm gonna end up becoming the Male Gulf version of Sara Gale!" The Lieutenant said in exasperated defeat, while things did work out for Gale, the amount of suffering she's had was Legendary. At the very least the Navy saw fit to give her a promotion based on all the work she did...and all the suffering she went through playing Destroyer minder. Among other things.

William himself on the other hand, wasn't quite sure he'd be able to handle the full spectrum of crazy that seemed to accompany the more... eccentric ship girls. Giving himself a double pat on the face to clear his thoughts. The Lieutenant decided that he needed out of the office. ASAP.

So he walked out of his office once he was sure he didn't have anymore paper work to do and went outside to observe Gunnery Sergeant Clayton and his three Marines playing with the PT Boats in a baseball field sized patch of grass speficically meant for the PT boats to get additional exercise when they weren't on sortie. Well it looked like mere play at first glance but seeing the Dogs break up into small elements and attempt to steal the tennis ball from one of the marines within the 20 second window had to hold the ball before they tossed it to one of their fellows was in some sense a drill for attack tactics.

William had to hand to Jim for coming up with that manner of training the PT boats, the side benefit of all this was that it was a good way for the rest of the Human portion of the unit to get exercise and maybe for just a moment forget their troubles. Though William just wished that the color of the tennis ball wasn't the same eye searing orange color of that Light Cruiser's dress.

Even though part of him was distracted with trying to keep the persistent annoying ear worm that was some of the Fleet Idol's more memorable sounds and jingles. Another part of him reacted automatically when Sergeant Banks in a moment of panic, pitched the Tennis ball right at the Lieutenant.

It was only when William reflexively caught the ball did he realize that Sergeant Banks threw it to him. And the next thing he knew, he was playing keep away with the PT Corgis. It didn't last particularly long though, for when William reached the all key 20 second mark. The Dogs came to a halt.

William looked at the dogs once, the annoyingly orange tennis ball in his left hand, and then he locked his gaze on Gunnery Sergeant Clayton. Who suddenly held an expression like he was sweating bullets. "Hey boys." William said to the Corgis after a short sharp whistle. And then he threw the ball at Gunnery Sergeant Clayton with a speed that could make some MLB pitchers envious.

"Go get em boys." William said after he threw the fast ball, which sent the Corgis going full speed. Unlike before, where the dogs would use harassment and distraction tactics to close in, here they went with a full on zerg-rush towards Gunner Sergeant Clayton.

Clayton attempted to catch the ball, but the fast ball bounced out of his hands before they could fully close. And by the time he manged to chase down the skittering ball and pick it up. The PT boats had already closed in.

Watching the Corgis quite literally dog pile Clayton was, cathartic for William. "Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, It seems that you couldn't keep the Ball away from the PT boats for the required 20 seconds after you picked it up. I'm sure you know what this means by this activities rules." The Lieutenant said loud and clear with a smile that from a certain angle and lighting, one might have sworn it was made of nothing but sharp teeth.

Clayton for his part emerged from the bottom of the fluffy pile after a few moments. "Yes sir, I lost, I wash the dogs come Monday." Clayton said with a fair bit of misery in his voice. Though the expression on his face told William that the Gunnery Sergeant had expected this kind of thing to happen to him.

William then went to check on Warrant Officer Sanderson and give the weapons specialist whatever help he could give him. The Lieutenant kinda lost track of time until a alarm on his watch notified him that it was time to get the night Rotation ready for their sortie. Both the Lieutenant and the Warrant officer double timed it back to the barracks to give the PT boats a quick top off meal and then. The next 15 and a half minutes were a mirroring of the organized chaos that had played out earlier that morning.

With a bit of time to spare, William made to the edge of the floating dock to greet the Day rotation as they came in. Now all he needed to do was wait for them.

Looking out at the sea, watching the group of PT boats come motoring back to the dock. William never did quite get used to see both a bunch of, admittedly adorable, Corgis scampering across the surface of the water as fast as their short little legs could take them, but somewhat at the same time, he occasionally saw the scene before him as 48 WWII-era PT boats steaming up to the floating dock. A blink of an eye later, and he once again just only saw the dogs.

When he had first seen it happen when he had started on this assignment, it sure gave him quite a startle, and a unplanned entry to the water. At this point in time though, he was used to seeing that happen, even if he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around why it happened. He had heard that the same happened to people on ships out at sea when they saw a shipgirl, and he believed it wholeheartedly.

He had some experience with Ship girls, mainly Destroyers that occasionally came over to play with the dogs...or snatch one or two away for naps and cuddles. Though the latter were more-often-than-not caused by the Japanese Destroyer ship girls than their American counterparts. A small bark shook William from his thoughts and he glanced back to the edge of the floating dock. The dogs had all gradually came to a halt at the edge of the floating dock, broken up into three ordered lines of sixteen. They were silently waiting for him to give them permission to come ashore, he never quite understood why they did that.

Was it because he was a Navy Lieutenant and therefore de facto commander for them when no one else was around? Was it because he could manage them so well? Or SECNAV forbid, was it purely because of his last name? He didn't know the answer to that question, and something told him that looking for it would just erode his sanity.

"Patrol Boats, Permission to come ashore Granted. Fall in and head off to the Mess hall. Squadron Leaders, make sure patrol reports are in by 1850." The Lieutenant spoke to the dogs before they started to hop up onto the dock three at a time. With a much practice motion, William kept his balance as the floating dock, reacted in interesting ways to the dogs. It wasn't the full weight the actual boats these dogs were, had during the war, but it was still far heavier than what a Corgi should weigh, more in line in with combat-loaded Marines. Yet if he were to pick one of them up now, they'd feel only slightly heavier than the average Corgi would.

How that was possible or made any lick of sense was far and above beyond his pay grade and sanity. So he didn't think about it too much and instead focused on making sure they remained organized and orderly as he followed the first trio to climb up back to the concrete landing the floating dock was attached to. Off to the left side of the landing was another 48 Patrol boats, rigging deployed and sitting quietly at attention, waiting for the incoming group to head off to the barracks.

It was always fascinating to watch the Dogs form up into groups of 12 before they dashed off to the PT boat Barracks. William always figured it was something that was ingrained into em from their past lives as Patrol Boats. Or perhaps it was his influence, as crazy as the world had gotten since the start of the war he always tried to maintain a sense of calm serenity while carrying out his duties even if he was surrounded in chaos. Maybe that was why, he honestly didn't know but he wouldn't rule it out. After watching the last group of 12 form up before dashing off for chow, William sighed heavily. Something he found himself doing more and more often lately.

"I really do need more people, I and six other people aren't really enough to manage 96 PT Boats..." He quietly muttered to himself, the Navy was still quite understaffed and recovering from the quadruple gut punch that had been Blood Week. Adding to that difficulty was trying to find people in the Navy who had experience handling Dogs, which is why four of his six subordinates were Marines.

William took a deep breath to steady himself as memories of that awful week briefly flooded back to his mind. A glance down to the silver bars of the Lieutenant collar device on his NWU's reminded him of how many officers were lost during the pandemonium of that week, reminded him of how he got to his position. Giving a small shake of his head to dispel those troubling thoughts and memories that threatened to drag him down, William looked at the assembled PT dogs of the Night rotation. Their beady eyes looked at him with a feeling that could best describe as concern.

"Don't worry about me boys, I was just thinking how much more work I'd have to do if I ever made it to O-5 or even O-6 before this War is over." He half-lied, it was something that he legitimately thought about and to some degree dreaded, if for nothing else then for the fact that reaching such a rank would likely have him dealing more and more with Ship girls. He wasn't opposed to working with them, but he didn't think he could handle the antics they could get up to.

"Though if I ever did make a senior officer rank, I probably should change my last name to avoid the storm of nicknames that'd come..." William said quietly to himself while turning around to head back onto the floating dock to see the PT boats off. He thought he had said that quietly enough for the PT Corgis to not hear him. That thought was instantly sunk before he even took a step onto the floating dock as he felt 48 pairs of eyes zero in on his back.

William gave another deep sigh and braced himself as he turned back to face the Night rotation, he had heard plenty about phenomena known as 'Destroyer Eyes' from other service members and even experienced it himself a handful of times before. In his expert opinion, while 'Destroyer Eyes' were powerful in their own right. It wasn't nearly as powerful as the Puppy Eyes the PT Dogs were giving him right now. Combined with the soft almost completely inaudible sad whines they were all giving, William felt his mental defense crumble almost instantly under the weight and volume of sad gazes directed at him.

"Boys stop with that, I was only joking! I ain't gonna actually go and change my name, not even if I one day become a Flag Officer! I promise!" He found himself hastily saying, he didn't actually hate his name. Not at the slightest, though the thing he did hate was the plethora of nicknames the initials of his name gave. Most of them Wrestling related because the initials of his full name, William Wallace Corgi, were the same as the initials for the World Wrestling Championship. There were other nicknames that came from his initials, but almost none of them annoyed him more than wrestling related ones.

The other nicknames he hasn't come to loathe in some manner as the ones he's overhead some of the enlisted refer to him with since he and understaffed group started managing the PT boats stationed in New Orleans. "I admit though, provided I ever make it to an admiral rank, Admiral Corgi has a nice ring to it. Hell even if i just make it to captain, Captain Corgi also has a nice ring to it too." William said to himself while rubbing the stubble of his chin with one hand.

While he didn't exactly say the statement aloud in front of the PT Corgis, he wasn't trying to say it quietly in front of them either. Lieutenant Corgi was torn from his thoughts by a sound that was almost like a constant low rumble of thunder. The sound was being caused by 48 tails wagging and slapping the concrete of the landing all at once. "Alright enough that ya'll, time to go Sortie." He said with a somewhat exasperated sigh before he moved onto the floating dock, the PT Corgis following close behind him in lock-step in three lines of sixteen. As he came to a stop at the edge of the dock and turned sideways. The PT Corgis came to a halt and waited, William could feel their anticipation and he didn't want to delay things any further.

"Patrol Boats, Permission to Sortie Granted, return here by 0530. Good Luck and Fair Seas." Lieutenant Corgi Said to the Pt Corgis, totally not stealing that last bit from a video game he used to play somewhat often in his free time before the war started, totally. Watching the Dogs step off the dock and onto the water's surface, organize themselves into twelve boat squadrons before steadily racing off towards their designated patrol sectors to do amongst other things, spot and report on Abyssal surface ships and subs that might be lurking in the Gulf, engaging when and where it was possible or if it seemed like a surface group was making a beeline for either a coastal town or the oil rigs.

William knew those PT boats woun't have a chance in hell against anything bigger than an Abyssal Destroyer in a straight fight. But then again, PT boats never got into a straight fight if it could be helped, though being very fast and small certainly helped in avoid being hit if a fight was to happen. Furthermore, if a fight happened after dark, well The night rotation would be well off, given that only the best night battle capable PT boats were in the Night Rotation. As the last of the PT boats formed up and sped off to the distance, Lieutenant Corgi stood there on the floating dock, quietly praying for his PT boats to come back home safely.

After he finished his quiet prayer, he turned back and started making his way to the PT boat Barracks, after briefly checking his watch and noting that it had been all of 15 minutes since he came out onto the dock to greet the returning day rotation of PT boats and see the Night Rotation off. At this point, he was fairly sure the Day rotation was finished eating, and that the Squadron leaders had left their reports on his desk already, even though they still had almost two hours to fill reports out and hand them in to him.

Part of him figured it was because they respected his firm but not overly strict leadership. Another part of him figured it was because the PT Corgis realized the sooner they handed in those reports and the sooner he finished transcribing them into the report he handed in to his superior. The more time he'd have to go play with them, not that he minded playing with the PT boats, in fact, he enjoyed it when he didn't have other things to do. Though Lieutenant Corgi wondered just how often did the PT boats happen to overhear the Conversations he had with his #2, Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, on how to keep the PT boat's Morale up.

Sure enough, as Lieutenant Corgi got back to the PT barracks he saw Lance Corporal Desmond and Private First Class Ellen carrying out the couple dozen empty bags of Dog food that was the night rotations meal. Giving the two marine a hand with bringing in more bags from the store house to repeat the cycle again come morning. Corgi was starting to feel his exhaustion mounting up.

When he entered the Barracks itself, Corgi was greeted almost immediately by a coffee mug given to him by Sergeant Banks. "Gunny said that you'd probably need this sir."

"Thank you Sergeant Banks. By the way where is the Gunnery Sergeant currently?" Corgi said as he took the Coffee mug and took a generous sip.

"Gunny said that he was picking up some reports and paper work that Administration wanted you to look at, Sir." Banks said crisply while swapping out the five gallon jugs that provided water to the dog bowls. Corgi raised an eyebrow at this news.

"Really now Sergeant? You think they finally found some more Dog qualified people to assign to this outfit?" He asked, with perhaps some amount of hope in his voice.

"One can certainly hope for that, Sir. But the Officer that stopped by here was from New Orleans." Banks said as he finished swapping the last water jug, that bit of info made Corgi's sun-kissed face pale more than a fair bit.

"D-did you catch the name of that officer Sergeant Banks? Or his rank?" Lieutenant Corgi asked, briefly tripping over the first word. Corgi had a sinking feeling in his gut with what the visit could be the signal of, but part of him still held out hope that it was his requests for additional personnel finally being granted. The truth of it would be known once Gunnery Sergeant Clayton returned from the Administration Building with the paperwork.

In the meanwhile, Corgi went back to his office to find the Post-Patrol reports from the day rotation already on his desk. In fact from the look of things, and one slightly chewed up pencil on the desk. It looked like one of the Squadron leaders had attempted to type out the report he normally wrote after reading their post-patrol reports.

"Okay... that don't help clear this uneasy feeling I'm having. At all." William said to himself as he dropped the slightly chewed up writing utensil into a desk drawer and got down to transcribing the Post-patrol reports. Things had been going well at his post, despite everything, it certainly had been nearly three weeks when the last major incident occurred, where one of the Visiting Japanese Destroyer Ship Girls somehow got a hold of thing of super glue and somehow managed to glue herself and two of the PT Corgis together. But something told him that this period of relative quiet was soon to end.

The Lieutenant had finished transcribing the last of the post-patrol reports when Gunnery Sergeant Clayton knocked on his office door. "Enter." Corgi said with no small amount of tiredness in his voice. Looking at Jim's mixed expression, William knew that there was at some good news to be had.

"William-" Clayton started to say before Corgi abruptly cut him off. "Jim, If there's any good news tell me that first, if there's not, then tell me the least bad news first then. Please." William asked his friend. Who seemed to brighten up a fair bit.

"Actually there is some good news William. Navy managed to find some people to fill some of the personnel requests you've filed." Came Clayton's reply, which caused Corgi to sit straight up in his chair with an expression of relief and anticipation painted on his face.

"How many? Is it anyone to help Warrant Officer Sanderson with his Job?... Wait... whats the catch? There's always a damn catch to any good news I get." Lieutenant Corgi said at first with excitement but that gave way to caution half way through.

"A pair of ensigns fresh from Annapolis sir. Whether or not either of them can help Warrant Officer Sanderson with his work remains to be evaluated sir." Clayton said to Corgi, briefly bringing back up the strict professionalism he normally had around superiors.

"Ah fuck it, I'll take what I can get at this point, I'll even happily take Army personnel if the Army is ever willing to lend me some of their men. Can I hope to trust you to help bring them up to speed when they get here in..." Corgi intentionally left the question hanging for Clayton, who for his part didn't miss a beat.

"Three days Wallace, and yes I'm make damn sure they're brought up to speed on how this outfits operates and what to expect." The Gunny said with confidence. Which made Corgi give another tired but relieved sigh.

"And the bad news?" Corgi asked, quietly dreading whatever it was Clayton was about to say next.

"I don't its bad news per say Wallace, but... from how things were like in the Administration building, It looks like they're getting ready to have some ship girls stationed here for... some time. I honestly don't know for certain but I do know these papers probably mention for how long," Clayton said with what could be best described as mixed feelings. Something Corgi was currently sharing with his friend as the Gunnery Sergeant handed him the papers to look over.

On the one hand, it meant things might become easier on them and the PT boats. On the other hand, it also meant that the kind of trouble and shenanigans ship girls could get up to would suddenly become a more normal facet to their already stressful lives. "Clayton, Tell everyone else I'm gonna retire the night earlier than normal once I finish this up." Corgi said as he accepted the folders and looked inside them.

"Of course Sir. Do try to get some rest Corgi. You need it, bad." Clayton said to his friend before leaving the room. One of the PT boats scampered into the room as the Gunnery Sergeant left it. Lieutenant Corgi looked at the PT Corgi as it came over to his desk and laid down on the floor to besides it.

"So you're the one who gonna guard my sleep tonight?" William asked the PT Corgi, who only looked up at him with its beady green eyes and gave a short, affirmative bark. He wasn't sure how he knew the bark was in the affirmative, but he knew it was.

He didn't know why the PT boats seemingly chose one of their own to go with him to sleep at the foot of his bed at night and his bed alone. He had asked the rest of his support staff about it and they told him none of the dogs tried getting into their rooms at night. It was only his room they tried to have at least one of their number in when it was time for him to go to bed. Could it be that they could sense his inner troubles? Did the PT boats consider him one of their own? Was it just because they wanted at least one of them to be with him like how a pet dog would want to be with their owner at night? Something else all together?

Lieutenant William Wallace Corgi didn't know the answer to that question, nor would he attempt to find an answer to the why. All he knew was that the PT boats would do whatever it took to get one of their number at the foot of his bed when he went to sleep at night, even if it meant chewing through the door of his quarters to get access to his room. As he had learned the hard way exactly once when he was originally assigned to be the PT Corgi Minder after the first couple PT boats had been summoned in the area around New Orleans.

William looked had looked over the folders regarding the two new transfers and went about writing and distributing an email to his support staff about the two incoming transfers. Mostly standard Navy Boiler plate, but he did add an additional note to triple check that all the super glue they had was locked down in a manner that a Destroyer wouldn't be able to get access to it without drawing lots of attention. Which basically meant putting the stuff in the bottom two drawers of the Filing cabinet in his office. No Destroyer, he hoped would try looking for the stuff there.

After that was sent out, he looked at the third folder Clayton had handed him, the one that regarded what possibly would be any potential ship girls stationed at this ad hoc auxiliary of a Naval base. Honestly, in his opinion, it was just an extension of the Naval operations base in New Orleans which was just a mere hour and a half or so drive from here at highway speed. Corgi thought about opening the folder and reading it, but then a rather strong yawn suddenly escaped his mouth.

With it came an intense wave of exhaustion. He decided that he could read the folder's contents in the morning since the outside of the folder didn't have any of the red stamped markings that meant he needed to read it then and there. Furthermore, he didn't want to fall asleep in officer again and have Gunnery Sergeant Clayton yell at him for pushing himself too hard, again.

Nor was William wanting to have the PT Corgis drag him to his bed, even if it meant the untimely demise of either the door hinges or the doors themselves if the Dog's fairy crews couldn't get the hinges off or busted. He didn't want to try explaining to base supply why he needed two new doors all a sudden for a second time in three months. The first was bad enough!

So Lieutenant Corgi got up from his office chair and stretched, letting another yawn fly as he did. A look at his watch showed the time to be 20:21. Certainly earlier than he normally would go to sleep at but he didn't think he could force himself to stay up much longer with coffee and work. So he made his way out of his office, PT Corgi hot on his heels, and made his way to his room.

A quick change into his night time sleep wear and the Lieutenant was climbing into bed, the PT Corgi hopping up onto the foot of his bed and curling up between his feet. Did the PT Corgis cause his feet to be a tad bit warmer than he liked them to be most of the time? Yes, yes they did. However, as William had noted, he did sleep a little better at night while having one of those PT Dogs watching over his sleep. Something he was glad for.

William Wallace Corgi sat up in his bed just long enough to Pat the head of the PT Corgi at his feet. As he pulled his hand away from its head he saw a fairy standing on top of it. "Good night, make sure I'm up by 0415. Alright?" He asked the tiny figure, who gave him a salute, or at least as close to one as its oversized head and stubby arms could manage. "Thanks. I appreciate it." Corgi said to the fairy as he fell back onto his pillow.

He was already completely asleep before his head even manged to touch the pillow.

[=]

* * *

 **Uploader's Note: Fresh Annapolis cadets?! *Sniggering ensues***

 **Well, time to play some Elco PT boats on Warthunder. Although, I quite like the Bias Botes- who knew that slapping two T-34 turrets and/or a Katyusha on a boat could mean so much fun?!**

 **Hope you enjoyed it. Again, thanks to Admiral Corgi. You used the method of Guest review, so I can't exactly reply to you, but let me know if theres a problem. I also took a bit of time to spellcheck for you.**

 **Oh, would it be easier to contact me on discord? Let me know.**


	73. An Officer and His Dogs 2

**Uploader's Note: Alright, prepare yourselves for a mass update. I feel like splurging, for one- I finally got settled into my new job, college, and other IRL stuff. I'm happy that this has _started_ to get closer to the views that Belated Battleships had, just over 100 followers or whatnot (about 400 to go for all those missing out from Belated Battleships, which remains top of the Kancolle list). You guys all deserve to read this, after all. So, 'Doggos' _and_ The Hunt for Abysall Graf Spee, _and_ some more Commie botes, all at the explicit prompting of the authors- how could I resist?**

* * *

Omake: An Officer and his Dogs part 2: Where Blimpcats are the bane of the LT's life

[=]

" **God dammit. God fucking dammit. I** ** _fucking_** **knew it. I knew some other shoe was gonna drop! I just knew it was gonna happen. I** ** _never_** **have any good luck!** " Lieutenant Corgi fumed as he looked at his email on his smartphone. He made _no_ attempt to keep quiet or suppress the borderline-furious tone of his voice as he flipped on his room's light and pulled a small suitcase out of the closet.

His phone had gone off at some point during the night but he hadn't been woken by it. The PT Corgi that was watching over him during the night on the other hand had heard it and recognized it had to be important.

Of course though, because the normal pawing and whining hadn't succeeded in waking the Lieutenant, the PT Corgi had to use drastic measures to wake him up.

Which involved pulling out his dresser drawers to climb up to the top of the piece of furniture before jumping off it and onto his chest. At least that was what the Fairies told him after the PT boat had woken him up. At two thirty in the morning, almost a full two hours before he was supposed to be up.

" _I knew I was gonna regret letting Pfc Ellen watch Garfield in the PT Barracks."_ Lieutenant Corgi muttered to himself as he got a day bag packed. He figured them seeing that movie was the only way the Corgis could have known that particular trick.

Of course though, the commotion in the middle of the night had woken Gunnery Sergeant Clayton and the rest of the PT boat support staff. Though only the Gunny dared to open the door to the Lieutenant's room to investigate.

"William what the hell is going on?" Clayton asked his friend in a rather concerned manner as he noticed the pulled out dresser drawers, Corgi packing a suitcase while simultaneously trying his dammed best to hate his phone out of existence.

"Jim, You Remember that Lieutenant Junior Grade that came in to take over my post in New Orleans when our unit and most of the PT Corgis got transferred here two months ago?" William asked his friend as he finished packing his suitcase.

"Yeah... Aww hell what happened to him?" Clayton said as realization dawned on him.

"Well, He's laid up in the infirmary right now. I don't know the details just yet, but what I do know is that the LTJG tried to break up a scuffle between one of the PT Corgis and a fucking blimpcat by grabbing the cat and trying to move it away from the PT Corgi. It goes without saying; the LTJG got savaged by the K-blimp." William said with gritted teeth.

[=]

Lieutenant Corgi hated using the radio set in the corner of the PT Barracks to contact the PT boats that were out on patrol. In fact he _despised_ using the radio set for a few reasons, some were practical like the need to maintain radio silence, some though were very personal to him.

Yet he had _no_ other choice but to contact the Corgis that'd certainly be on their way back from their night patrols. And inform them of the situation. The PT Corgis ... didn't take it too well if he or really any of the support staff were suddenly absent without advance notice. Corgi reasoned it was either because of the pack-like nature the PT boats had in their original lives or the fact that they had returned in the present day as dogs. Either way, if he _didn't_ radio in to them about the situation, then they'd probably end up upturning the ad-hoc base over in an attempt to find him.

As his hands picked up the headset, he felt a twinge in his left side. As he placed the headset on, two things struck him at once. One was an old Familiarity, the cozy comfort of memories from happier times. However accompanying that was a wave of phantom pain.

It was transient, there for no more than a split second, but the pain seared and rippled across the lower third of his back with raw intensity. In the pain's wake, came a flood of memories fountaining into the forefront of his mind like water from a five inch hole below a ship's waterline.

Lieutenant Corgi remained steadfast as he wrestled the flood of sights, sounds, smells, feelings, thoughts and sensations from that dark day back then under control once more. It took only a few moments at most for him to finish that task. The only sign of his brief inner struggle visible to the outside was a brief white-knuckle clenching of his right hand. The Lieutenant keyed the microphone on with a heavy sigh.

"Knight Dogs, Knight Dogs. This is Dog-Actual. Priority situation happened at Kennel House, Devil dog-actual will act in my place until the situation at Kennel house has been resolved. How copy?" William said tersely and quickly, naturally he said the message in code so its true meaning couldn't be understood by those who didn't already know its meaning. At least that was his hopes.

He couldn't put faith into _his_ radio being incapable of having its signals intercepted by Abyssal forces. So despite his disdain for using the radio set when the dogs were deployed, he made sure that the dogs, his staff and other friendly units understood the meaning of his coded transmissions. Even if his particular method of coding messages did nothing to abate the dog related nicknames the enlisted and his fellow officers gave him and by extension, the unit he lead.

When Corgi heard four quick barks from the other end of the line, he knew the dogs had received and understood his message. "Solid Copy Knight Dogs, Dog-Actual out." Corgi spoke as with another sigh as he took the headset off and then switched the unit to receive only.

[=]

If there was one thing that Corgi was glad for, it was that there was already a transport truck that had been ready to deliver aviation fuel to New Orleans, the matter was a simple one of having him hitch a ride in the Cab for the little over hour and half drive to New Orleans. The seat wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world and the road wasn't in the best condition either.

Yet despite this, Lieutenant Corgi found himself drifting asleep. But he'd find no restfulness in his slumber, only memories and nightmares awaited him.

His world was darkness.

He couldn't find any light, no matter how hard he tried; he couldn't even see his own hands in front of his face. Sound itself seemly _ceased_ just mere inches outside the confines of his body. Leaving his own rapid fire breathing and terrified heartbeat as the only things he could hear.

And then the world came back to him slowly, the lapping of waves against steel, the groaning of metal under stress... the Screams of the wounded, the dying, those who were maliciously being plucked out of the water by some kind of monstrosity. But all these sounded were muted, muffled by a nigh-all consuming, agonizing ringing in his ears. He suddenly felt himself knocked down to the ground, the right side of his face smacking into something hard and unyielding in the seemingly never ending darkness.

He opened his eyes and realized he could see things other than endless darkness, but he couldn't focus on anything, his world was a blur of colors, his head spun and his limbs felt like they were made of lead dust and wet concrete. He saw a vague mass of black moving along in the distance, slowly closing in...

 **"-utenant! Lieutenant! Are you alright, Sir?"** came the concerned if a bit distant voice of a Marine. A Marine that William realized was the driver of the truck. With desperation like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to flotsam amidst a storm, William jumped up off the deck he was on towards the voice to escape his nightmare.

[=]

Lieutenant Corgi awoke from his nightmare with a hard jolt, jumping up in his seat like his body was a heavy spring that was under a load that suddenly got removed. His seat belt biting into his shoulder as the sudden motion tripped the safety belt arrestor and kept him from banging his head against the cab's ceiling. His Hazel green eyes were wide and madly searching the Cabin for a few transient moments before reality caught up with him.

"What the hell were you murmuring on about in your sleep sir?" The driver asked with a considerable amount of concern in his voice, his head turned as much as he could toward William while still keeping eyes on the road.

"Uh-what? Are we there yet marine?" He asked his Marine driver while rubbing his face with one hand; it was a rushed attempt at changing the subject and deflecting the question. The driver for his part only gave him a nod before answering him, seeing no point in trying to get the LT to answer his original question he turned his head back to facing completely forward. "Yes sir, we just entered New Orleans proper, we'll be at the operations base in about 15."

"Good, good." Corgi said to the marine as his heart rate and breathing finally came back under control. The slight tremor in his hand from the spike of adrenaline that had coursed through his veins until moments ago was concealed by a prolonged check of his wrist watch. It was almost 0415.

He glanced out the window and saw the streets that were illuminated by dim street lights. The light themselves felt dimmer than there were and the shadows cast by them felt deeper and more sinister than they had right to be. Lieutenant Corgi didn't try to sleep for the extra 15 minutes. He wouldn't dare it.

[=]

It didn't take long for Lieutenant Corgi to find the command building and report in for his summons. It took an even shorter amount of time for him to get to the PT Barracks since he still remembered the route to that part of the base from the Headquarters building.

When he entered the building, William saw eight PT Corgis in the main room, who when they saw him. They reacted by doing what William had called 'The PT Boat Shuffle', _knowing_ what was about to happen next, he managed to set his small suitcase aside and get clear of the doorway just as the Corgis finished the shuffle. Which then they promptly tackled him to the ground and attempted to lick his face clean all at once. Needless to say, his face was slobbered and the Dogs that couldn't get his face got his neck instead. Needless to say, William was trying and failing to keep himself from laughing as wet noses and silky snouts tickled his face and neck.

"Okay okay! Stop, stop! I know y'all missed me but come on lemme up please! I have work to do you know." He said in between bouts of laughter he _utterly_ failed to hold in. For a moment, he forgot all about the nightmare he had on the ride over to here, forgot there was a war on. For moment, he felt like a kid receiving the affection of a bunch of puppies. And then that moment passed as the PT Corgis relented and allowed him to get back up on his feet.

Taking a minute to retrieve his cover, which had been knocked off of his head when he was tackled, once he had his cover he then straightened out his NWU's. Once he was presentable again the Lieutenant gave each of the PT boats present head pats and ear scratches. "Alright boys so how was the guy that took my post when the squad and I got transferred over to Port Fourchon?" He asked the PT Corgis.

When he saw their ears drop drown, the happy energy they were showing just prior suddenly vanish, and watched their expressions change; some became sad looking, others agitated. One PT boat even had their teeth bared!

When Lieutenant William Wallace Corgi saw all this, the residual happiness he felt from the PT boat's greeting vanished like a puff of smoke in a hurricane. The smile on his face fell and was replaced by a deep furrowed frown.

"Okay, I want y'all to write a report of exactly what this LTJG has done with y'all since he took over this posting from me. I'll be in the Office to see what he's written up as far as reports go." William said with ice creeping into his voice before he took his suitcase and headed for the office.

William briefly greeted and questioned a Marine he saw poking their head out from one of the Support staff quarters. William learned that besides the LTJG he was the only other person who managed the PT boats, and that the Pfc's comment about doing most of the grunt work. It didn't put a good feeling in Corgi, not at all. He needed to get to the bottom of this and needed to do so soon.

[=]

Needless to say the Lieutenant was thoroughly _unimpressed_ by the job his Replacement in the Big easy had done. It wasn't _completely_ horrible, otherwise he was certain the LTJG would have been removed from his post **well** before this point, but it was just the bare minimum to keep operations moving forward.

"I don't fucking get it. How did this guy fuck things up like this? He only had to manage 16 goddamn PT boats!" Lieutenant Corgi said to no one in particular as he sat in the LTJG's office, which was originally _his_ office before Admiral Raleigh had seen it fit two months ago to transfer him, his support staff, and the Majority of the PT Corgis that were originally stationed in New Orleans to Port Fourchon to keep a Light Quick Reaction Force much closer to the oil fields in the event a monster like the Atomic Battlecruiser Princess ever showed up again.

While William did have his doubts back then on just how effective PT boats would have been in a last ditch effort to stop a monster like that from busting the oil rigs in the fields. He did his marked best to carry out his orders to the best of his abilities with the help of his support staff, and he was reasonably confident to claim that he and his staff had done a good job at preparing the PT boats under his command for such a, nightmare scenario.

The replacement that took over his station here in New Orleans on the other hand, didn't do so well in comparison. Corgi read the reports his replacement had wrote, the PT boats were acting difficult, they kept getting into scuffles with the K-blimps, they kept sneaking off at night, chewed up chairs and doors, and myriad of other things that led to Lieutenant Corgi to come to one conclusion.

The man who had taken Corgi's position in New Orleans when he was transferred to Port Fourchon had almost completely, utterly, _failed_ to read the document that Corgi had left for him that had details on how to effectively manage the PT Corgis. And William suspected that the LTJG who took his post in New Orleans had falsified some things in the reports he was reading right now, because the man's notes and reports didn't have the kind of things that would cause a PT Corgi to bare their teeth. _Something_ was clearly at a miss here.

When he heard scratching at the door, he acted on reflex. "Enter." He said in a casual, but somewhat tense matter. When he still heard the scratching on the door and small whines, he was confused. Standing up from his desk William walked over to the door, and finally noticed that the dog door had been covered over with a bit of plywood. He was shocked for a full second and then, he felt his blood _boil_ if only for a brief moment before he forced himself to regain his composure _._

While tempering his anger he opened the door and allowed the PT Corgi to come in. The Fairy on the top of its head gave him a salute, while holding out a rather large stack of large postage stamp sized papers. William felt his heart and stomach sink at the sight of the reports. Doubly so when he took them back to the desk along with the PT Corgi, who he kept in his lap.

He read the incident reports the crews of the eight dogs had written up detailing the last 2 months. Things didn't seem bad at first and this he read slowly, but as he went on he started to read through them faster and faster as the situation detailed in them deteriorated. His disbelief and shock was quickly becoming anger at the LTJG's actions, he was angry. The neglect and sheer incompetence that his replacement had shown the PT Corgis was damn near straight up abuse. Hell he was sure that some of this _would_ be legally defined abuse in some jurisdictions.

The only thing that kept his mounting anger from completely boiling over was when he read how the only Marine he saw in the Building treated the PT boats and what that marine was like according the PT Corgis. Hard working, doing an honest effort to give the dogs the Care and attention they needed in addition to his other duties, often pushing himself to near total exhaustion. His only real demerit was that he was described as a doormat regarding his Superior Officer. But William wouldn't hold the marine in contempt for that.

"Raphael Sandbar, so that's the name of the man I saw poking his head out of one of the support staff quarters earlier correct?" The Lieutenant asked the PT corgi in his lap, who looked up at him and gave a short cheery bark and a few wags of its tail. William rubbed the side of the dog's face with his free hand.

"I can clearly see from y'all that he's a good man here. I'll make sure he's not condemned by the report I'm going to write about this. I am not letting this shit stand, not at fucking all." Corgi said to the PT boat in a voice so low and filled with icy fury that the dog couldn't help but have a few fearful shivers go up its body, even though the PT boat wasn't even _remotely_ the object of William's anger.

[=]

As dawn broke over New Orleans, Lieutenant Corgi got with Pfc Sandbar and the two of them went about doing the work that needed to be done. Topping off the Day Rotation's fuel reserves,

Setting out the Food for the returning night rotation in advance before they went helping the PT boats of the day rotation with their Rigging, After that it was finally time for them to meet the Returning night Rotation out on the docks.

William learned that Pfc Sandbar _had_ read the entire Document he had left behind for the LTJG that was his replacement here in New Orleans. And Corgi could see that Sandbar had rather _meticulously_ memorized the finer points of the Document. However though the Marine never had a chance to complete the quasi-ritual that was the rotation of the patrol.

For when the eight corgis of New Orleans' Night Patrol PT Boat Rotation saw Lieutenant Corgi standing on the docks with Pfc Sandbar. The dogs accelerated to flank speed and practically jumped the last ten feet of way to the floating dock.

Which their landing upon almost tossed both Corgi and Sandbar off the floating dock and into the water. _Almost_ since Corgi recovered his Balance first and grabbed the back of Sandbar's MCCUU jacket to keep the Marine from falling face first into the water.

It was here where Sandbar witnessed the affection the PT Corgis held for the Navy Lieutenant and it wasn't till after they had given the Lieutenant an affectionate welcome that the PT Corgis of the night rotation sprinted off to the Barracks. The two of them then saw the Day rotation off before they began making their way back to the PT Barracks.

"W-wow Sir, I never realized that the PT Boats loved ya so much." Sandbar spoke with a sense of awe.

"Course they do Pfc Sandbar, I was the one that commanded all the PT Corgis here up until two months ago when me, my Team, and all but twelve of the PT Boats station in New Orleans got transferred over to Port Fourchon. I can see that a couple more of em got summoned since I last here." Corgi spoke with a degree of pride in his voice as they entered the PT Barracks.

Though once they were inside, Lieutenant Corgi turned and gave Sandbar a hard look, though it wasn't direct _at_ Sandbar the Marine flinched regardless at the intensity of the look in the Lieutenant's Hazel Green eyes. "Private, Your Commanding Officer here, the incompetent dumbass who thought grabbing and moving an angry fucking blimpcat was a good idea. I will not mince words with you. I am going to report everything incompetent and neglectful thing this dumb Son of a Bitch has done. And I will see to it that he answers for his treatment of you, and the PT Corgis. I don't _how_ this shit went on for this long without anyone noticing let alone doing something about it but I'm going to do something about it now. Do I make myself clear Private First Class Sandbar?"

Sandbar wouldn't have been lying if he admitted that he was terrified of the Lieutenant's statement, not due to the words themselves but the manner that they were delivered. Sandbar knew, like how every marine ought to, that the volume of the person chewing someone out was inversely proportional the rank they held. Even so, Sandbar was caught off guard by how quiet and deathly calm the Lieutenant had spoken to him in stark contrast to nigh-apocalyptic anger his eyes had.

It was like the like Corgi was a senior Flag Officer instead of being a mere Lieutenant. Was _this_ what his friends on base meant when they had told him about The 'Admiral' of the PT boats? If so, he finally understood why his fellow Marines didn't dare attempt to get on Corgi's bad side when he was still stationed here. And then the Lieutenant sighed and placed a hand on Sandbar's shoulder.

"Listen, As much as I hate leaving you with managing the PT Corgis after all the crap the LTJG has put ya through, I need to sit down in the Officer and make a report about this mess so that it can get properly unfucked yesterday." William said in an earnest and somewhat apologetic manner to Sandbar.

"That's Fine Sir-"

"You can drop the Sir stuff for now Sandbar; just call me William or my middle name, Wallace for now alright? Because Right now, we're both just two men trying to do the right thing for these PT Boats."

"Yes Si- yes Wallace." Sandbar replied, catching himself from saying 'Sir' when the Lieutenant had told him to drop it for the time being. He was confused at the nearly 180 Wallace's personality had done, it took Sandbar a few moments to realize it, but the sudden change was because the Lieutenant was now directly speaking to him, instead of the situation at hand.

"Hey Wallace?"

"Yes Sandbar?"

"Are you going to chew out the LTJG when you're done writing your reports?" The Marine asked the Lieutenant, a hopeful glen in his eyes. There was silence for a moment, before the Lieutenant gave the Marine a down right evil smile.

"After I get the report from the night patrol compiled and the report on the LTJG's negligence and overall incompetence written up and sent up the chain. I will Sandbar, trust me _I will._ "

[=]

It wasn't until noon time that Lieutenant Corgi was able to finish writing up both the Night Rotation's report and his report on the LTJG's misconduct as the handler of New Orleans' PT boats. The later report taking far longer to write than the former but when he was done, William emailed both reports to the Admiral's Secretary with the later report flagged as being high priority.

Having a fair idea on how the Admiral would take the later report once it reached his desk, Corgi got up and out of the Office and into the rest of the PT Barracks. He noticed that the eight PT Corgis of the night patrol were fast asleep in a cuddle puddle.

Since he didn't see Pfc Sandbar anywhere, he assumed the marine headed off to the mess hall. Hearing a growl from his stomach, William realized he skipped out on breakfast entirely. He grabbed a dry-erase board and marker and wrote out a note for the PT Boats in case they woke up from their sleep before he or Sandbar returned.

While William was in a bit of rush to get something to eat before he'd go have a few words with the LTJG laid up in the infirmary, he didn't move faster than a moderately fast walk. He saw that there was some changes to the base, a few new buildings, but overall it wasn't drastically different to what he last remembered when was stationed here until two months ago.

He followed a group of Ensigns through the Mess Hall doors, grabbed a tray and got in line. Nobody seemed to have noticed him at first and he was fine with that, at least until he passed a group of Marine Lieutenants sitting at a table. One of whom got a good look at him, and promptly dropped the lasagna laden folk he was holding.

"Holy Hanna, that's Corgi, I knew someone had to fill in for the unfortunate bastard that got mauled by a blimpcat last night but I didn't think they'd bring the PT Boat Whisperer himself here." The marine said to his fellows while trying to not attract William's attention. This didn't work out too well since the Lieutenant shot a look over his shoulder at the marines before he got himself a plate of Lasagna and moved down the line.

After filling his tray with a sizable meal of Lasagna, a slice of Pizza, some garlic bread, and a small cup of gumbo. William looked around the room for a place to sit, his eyes wondered until he saw Pfc Sandbar sitting at a mostly empty table that had another marine, a Staff Sergeant from the looks of it, and an Ensign as the only other occupants.

Both they and Sandbar were surprised when William sat down at the table with them. "As you were gentlemen, don't mind me." William said to put the three of em at easy before he started to eat.

"So, Lieutenant, what's it like managing so many PT Boats?" The rather nervous sounding Ensign asked William as he was taking a bite out of his slice of pizza after finishing the last of the lasagna and gumbo. The Lieutenant chewed and swallowed the bite before answering the Ensign.

"Lots of work, especially since I don't have enough people in my Support Staff to allow members of it any significant time off even if I wanted to give it to them." William said in a blunt matter of fact manner. This made the ensign balk.

"But Sir isn't there like a bunch of Marines and Navy enlisted where you're normally stationed that you could have transferred to your unit to bolster your staff?" The Ensign said, for a moment unaware of the offense to the Lieutenant he had just done, well that was until William rounded on the junior officer with a hard steely gaze.

"Let me make one thing clear Ensign." Corgi's voice was even and matter of fact in tone, even perhaps friendly. However it brokered **_no_** argument.

"PT Corgis are far more of a challenge to handle than you and 92% of people realize. They are often more energetic than Destroyer Shipgirls are even if they don't quite have the same stamina. And they can cause a whole lotta chaos in short order if you don't teach them very clear rules or keep on top their activities like a hawk. Even then they still sometimes get themselves into trouble because of their dog instincts." The Lieutenant said in a somewhat tired tone.

The Ensign tried to speak but the Lieutenant silenced him with a glare before continuing. "Unlike Shipgirls who, who while being also ships, are also human. So they think and conduct themselves like people do most of the time. The PT boats way of thinking on the other hand takes more after the breed of dogs that their physical bodies take after. If Normal Corgis are considered to very independent and strong-willed, then the PT Corgis are even more so, and they are _very_ intelligent. They understand every word you're saying, even if they can't speak like you and I."

"This means you need to be able to train them effectively to follow your rules. If you don't, they will form their own set of rules and then they'll try to train _you_ to follow them. This also means you shouldn't speak ill of them in their presence. They may also become more stubborn than a damn Battleship if you don't give them the attention they need. And unlike normal Corgis, the PT Corgis are _very_ capable of biting straight through an eighth of an inch of armor plate if they feel like they are threatened by someone they haven't yet come to know and trust, if they aren't an 0-5 or higher that is." William took a breath before he delivered the finisher.

"With all of this in mind, I need people who are either explicitly trained to handle and work with Military Dogs, or whom had a background of handling or training dogs before they came into the Military. That is the requirements needed to get into the unit I run, and there is exactly one way to get an exception to those requirements to get in." Corgi said a rather flat voice before waiting for the Ensign to digest the information and ask the question he was expecting the junior officer to ask him.

"W-what is that exception S-sir?" the Ensign stammered out. "Well that's rather simple Ensign, if the PT Corgis trust you right off the bat. If they trust you, I trust you, but it does also seem like the reverse is true as well." William said with a far more friendly voice than he using beforehand.

William finished demolishing the rest of the food on his tray in short order before he spoke again. "Gentlemen, I have a LTJG to go chew out for being almost completely incompetent with handling the PT Corgis and dumping it nearly all the responsibilities of managing them onto Pfc Sandbar." He said as he picked up his tray and went to put it away.

[=]

"Holy shit, the LTJG is getting torn apart in there." Pfc Sandbar said quietly as he, the Staff Sergeant and the Ensign he shared a table with, heard what was going on in the other room. Which while muffled, it was still loud enough through the closed door for the others to just be a foot from it to hear what was being said by Lieutenant Corgi.

 **"-JUST WHAT IN THE SAM HELL WERE YOU THINKING PICKING UP A K-TYPE BLIMPCAT? YOU ARE NOT AN AIRSHIP AND THAT CAT SURE AS HELL DIDN'T TRUST YOU!-"**

"Now, I get why some of the other guys that'd been here for a while called The Lieutenant 'Captain Barker'" The Staff Sergeant quietly whispered to the other two as they listened in.

 **"-F I HAVE TO AIR MAIL YOUR ASS BACK TO THE NAVAL ACADEMY. SO HELP ME SECNAV I'LL SHIP YOU THERE WITH SAME DAY EXPRESS!"**

"You'd think he was a marine with the mercilessness with which he's chewing Lieutenant Junior Grade Jackson with." The Ensign said, wide eyed but utterly transfixed with what he was listening to.

"Hey! What are you three doing by that door?" came the commanding tone of a voice from further down the hall. The three looked and realized it was another Navy Lieutenant. On reflex they came to attention before the Staff Sergeant answered the Lieutenant's question. "Sir, we were listening to Lieutenant Corgi chew out LTJG Jackson, Sir!"

At the mentioning of Corgi's name, the Lieutenant, who was now close enough for the three to see Gallow on the name tape, had a look of shock and disbelief on his face. "Wait, did you say Corgi? Like William 'Mad Dog' Corgi? Make some room, I gotta hear _this._ " Lieutenant Gallow said as he joined the three in listening to what was going on in the other room.

 **"I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU LTJG JACKSON, BUT I SURE AS FUCK DON'T WANT MY GODDAMN NAME IMMORTALIZED IN HISTORY AS BEING THE FIRST PERSON TO HAVE DIED BY AN ANGRY FLOATING CAT! WHEN AD-"**

"Oohh yeah, that's 'Mad Dog' Corgi alright. I knew Jackson got mauled by a blimpcat for grabbing it and attempting to remove it from the presence of one of the PT Boats. But if Corgi is yelling at him like _this_? He _must've_ found something the LTJG was hiding that pushed his buttons." Lieutenant Gallow said with a slight grimace at hearing the verbal carnage that was going on in the other room.

"Is Lieutenant Corgi always like this Sir?" Pfc Sandbar asked Lieutenant Gallow. Who shook his head side to side. "No son, he _isn't_ always like this. He's best known for being pretty damn hard to get angry actually. Only the completely idiotic or the negligently incompetent can get him this angry. Judging by the way he's yelling at Jackson; seems like Jackson was a bit of both."

"Then why did yo-" Sandbar started to say before Gallow cut him off with a look. "I and a Few others call him 'Mad Dog' for what he did during Blood week when his ship got attacked." Gallow said before he gave a sigh, seeing the question the marine was about to ask him, Gallow beat him to it.

"Listen, I know the story of what happened then, but it isn't mine to tell. You want to know it? You have to ask him about it yourself Private." Lieutenant Gallow said in a voice that had no room for Argument. Pfc Sandbar only gave a hasty nod in reply.

It was then that it dawned on the four men that the yelling had stopped and footsteps were approaching the door. Pfc Sandbar, the Staff Sergeant and the Ensign all backed away from the Door and attempted rather badly at that, to not look like they were eavesdropping in on Corgi's Chew out of the LTJG. Lieutenant Gallow on the other hand only moved to the side of the door so he wouldn't block it.

As Corgi opened the Door and walked out of the room, he noticed and recognized Gallow. "Dominic my old friend! It's good to see you again." William said in a happy tone as he shook the others hand. "Same here William. How has Port Fourchon treated you?" The other Lieutenant asked his friend.

"Ah you know Dominic, the usual, whole lotta PT Corgis, not enough support staff to easily manage em. Everyone including me are running double shifts, and generally helping one another to the best of our abilities." William said in a devil-may-care manner. "Ah yeah I figured as much, but ya glad that you don't have to worry about Destroyers spoiling the dogs rotten?"

"Damn right I do Dominic, their hearts are in the right place but spoiled PT boats just makes prone to misbehaving and stealing all the Peanut butter." Corgi said with a small laugh. "Well Dominic, it's been great but I gotta cut it short for right now. I've gotta make preparations for the returning Day Patrol." William said to the other before he went to walk away.

It was then that he noticed the other three. "As you were gentlemen." He said in a voice that didn't betray anything, but the smile on his face. A 'smug dog' kind of smile that said that he knew that the three of them heard him chew out the LTJG. As Lieutenant Corgi walked past the group of three, he paused and turned his head towards Sandbar.

"Pfc Sandbar, I'll go make sure things are ready for the changing of the Patrol Rotation in a few hours. Your job is going to be to sortie the Night rotation. Once you're back from that with the returned day rotation, your orders will be to then take the rest of the evening off. After everything, you've earned at least that much and much more. Do I make myself clear private?" William spoke in a voice that while friendly, made it exceptionally clear that the only answer he'd accept from Sandbar was a 'yes sir'.

"Sir, Yes Sir." was Pfc Sandbar's immediate response. "Excellent, carry on as you were." William said before walking off.

[=]

It had been a rather long day, but now with the day rotation back and fed and the night rotation sortied by Sandbar. The post patrol reports from the day rotation were compiled into an overall daily report and send up the chain of command, along with a few requests to supply for items like rawhide bones, tennis balls and other dog toys for the PT boats. The two men sat in adjacent couches in the main room of the PT Boat Barracks.

"Lieutenant, do you want to get something at the mess hall sir? Its 20:11 and tonight's dinner is fish Tacos." Pfc Sandbar asked Corgi, while rubbing the head of one of the PT Boats that lay across his lap. Corgi just shook his head, his eyes holding an exhausted look to them.

"I'll pass Sandbar, but you go ahead and get yourself some chow, okay?" William said as the building exhaustion from the day was now finally catching up to him. Sandbar nodded and went to get up; the PT Corgi in the Pfc's lap jumped off and walked over to the couch William was on.

The marine looked back at the Lieutenant when he got to the door of the Barracks; all the dogs were gathered around William, who noticed Sandbar's look and waved him on. Once the marine had left the building, William let a tired sigh pass his lips as he looked up at the ceiling of the building.

"Everyone worrying about me like this makes me feel old. I'm not that old, 35 isn't _that_ old now. Yet I'm making people worry about me like I'm at least twice that age and doing the work I do. Does that make me a shitty leader?" William said to the eight PT boats that were gathered around him. The dogs looked him as he brought his gaze down to them and they gave him either side-to-side shakes of their heads or two short barks. The responses made a smile crack across the Lieutenant's tired features.

"Thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence boys." Corgi said to the PT boats. Who wagged their tails and smiled at the praise. "And I'll be damn sure, to personally vet whoever Admiral Raleigh sends to take over this post. So something like this mess with the LTJG...doesn't happen again." The comment made the PT boats whine a bit.

"You stop that, you know I can't stay here boys, I've got a lot more PT boats back in Port Fourchon who're waiting for me to return. Clayton is a good man, but he can only cover for my job for so long. We might be getting a pair of ensigns added to the unit in two days. But you he can't show em the ropes, cover his duties _and_ my duties all at once." William said before another yawn escaped his lips, his eyelids felt heavy so he just closed them for a bit.

"Unless...Raleigh decided to bring Dog Squad and all those PT boat Squadrons back to New Orleans... but I don't think he'll do something like...that." William mumbled out as he nodded off into a deep sleep. The PT boats looked at the sleeping Lieutenant, and they knew that he'd have one badly sore neck if he was allowed to remain sleeping like that.

With a series of nudges and pushes with their noses as well as light pulling and tugging on the Lieutenant's NWU's with their mouths; being careful to not leave more than a slobber mark on the uniform. The eight PT Corgis of New Orleans' daytime patrol rotation carefully moved Lieutenant William Corgi into a more comfortable position lying down on the couch. One of the dogs had managed to nudge one of the couch pillows under the LT's head.

With their beloved commander now comfortably position on the rather comfortable couch and already sleeping, the PT Corgis gathered around him in a cuddle puddle. Leaving a _very_ memorable sight for Private First Class Raphael Sandbar to see when he returned to the PT boat Barracks after dinner. As for William, his dreams were quiet and pleasant for the remainder of the night.

[=]


	74. An Officer and His Dogs 3

Omake: An Officer and his Dogs part 3. [=]  
William awoke gently, the first few things he noticed right away was that there were roughly eight warm things around him. He realized he was on one of the couches that were in the main room of the PT Barracks. He could feel the cold blast of the AC on his face, yet he knew that he was sweating, and had been for some time now. In the Diffuse lighting of the room, he looked around and saw what the cause for the contradiction in temperature was. The eight PT Corgis of the daytime patrol were gathered around him on the couch in a cuddle puddle and he was the center of it.

In the diffuse darkness, a smile cracked across the Lieutenant's face. Though as he also became aware of damp he was from sweating he started to stir. Though he did give the nearest dog some rubs on the side of their face. "Thank you, for watching over me last night; but can Y'all let me up now? I need to shower something fierce." William said with a small chuckle.

A small flurry noises followed as the PT Boats obeyed the Lieutenant's request, from the soft almost unnoticeable jingles of dog tags lightly tapping against the metal loops that helped secure their collars, to the muted click-clack of the Corgis nails tapping against the tile of the Barracks floor as they jumped down from the couch, and much more muted pitta-pat of the dogs' footfalls as they moved across the floor to give the Lieutenant room to stand up and stretch.

When Lieutenant Corgi finished his quick little stretch, he looked at the glow dial of his wristwatch to see what time it currently was; it was 0340, just a little over half an hour before he was supposed to wake up. 'Well, can't complain about waking early this time.' he thought to himself as he looked around the main room with his dark-adjusted eyes.

It took a moment, but he noticed something was off with one of the chairs at the table where the support staff would have meetings, eat breakfast, every now and again play poker at. A sixth sense of sorts went off at the back of William's mind. Never being one to ignore such a feeling, he fished his phone out of his pocket and found the flashlight app.

Though it did ruin his night vision, the bright LED light did confirm his suspicion that one of the chairs was left slightly crooked from what it normally was. A bit of further inspection of the legs showed some light teeth marks that weren't there before. He also noticed a small scuff mark leading to the Barracks door, and curious teeth-mark like dents and scratches on the doorknob.

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow at this, it wasn't particularly often that the PT Corgis went and sneaked out of the building. He reminded himself to keep a keen eye for any clues as to what one of the dogs sneaked out for, and then determine whether or not if he needed to brace himself towards having an email waiting for him in his inbox sometime later today.

Now though he shuddered as the AC, a frosty 65 degrees for the comfort of the PT boats, was able to direct its chilly hold on his damp uniform and body. "Right, I need a shower," Corgi said to himself as he suppressed another shiver. Seeing that his small suitcase was still off to the side of the door; where he had left it when he had arrived here yesterday. The Lieutenant picked it up and carried it over to one of the spare rooms. He figured it'd be another day or so before LTJG Jackson's personal effects were removed from the CO's quarters and thus freed up the room for whomever it would be that'd come and take his place.

So instead of using the CO's quarters and its standalone bathroom to wash up, William entered the empty XO's quarters, which when he was originally stationed in New Orleans, used to be Clayton's room. The fact that there was a fairly thick layer of dust on the top of the empty dresser meant that no one had gone into the room since Clayton and the rest of William's support staff was transferred over to Port Fourchon some two months ago. For the time being, the Lieutenant would make this room his quarters.

Setting his suitcase on the dresser, William stripped and headed for the quarter's shower. He liked showering with the water just a few degrees below its hottest setting. It helped eased the tension that built up in his muscles from the stress his job had, or after he had spent more than a good part of the day running around with the dogs.

Fresh from his shower William quietly reveled in the softness of the towel he dried off with. Though as he dried off his back his eye twitched just slightly as the sensation of the towel dulled and then abruptly ceased as he reached the very bottom of his back. At least the transition area nowadays when he dried off his was just merely uncomfortable to touch, instead of it being searing painful as it had been when he had been released from the hospital a little over two and half years ago.

Giving a small shake of his head to push aside the memories of the recovery period he went through before he was allowed to be on the front lines again, William wrapped the towel around his waist and exited the bathroom of his quarters to get dressed for the day. It didn't take him very long to get most mostly dressed, though before he put his T-shirt on over his head, he looked at his image in the mirror. In particularly at the two marks on his left side, one was roughly the size a silver dollar and stretched across two ribs. The other mark though, it began a few inches above the bottom of his ribs and ended towards the middle of them.

Allowing his shirt to slide down to his wrists, William touched the second, angrier mark on his side with the fingers of his right hand, lightly tracing the slightly curved path the trench of the larger scar with his fingertips. "I still don't know how the hell I lived through that day..." He quietly spoke to no one but himself.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, but at that moment he could still see it. The two twisted pieces of steel sticking out of his side, the flak vest underneath the life jacket he had been wearing being the only thing that stopped those twisted pieces of metal from killing him outright. The sensation of finding it nearly impossible to draw a breath, and nigh blinding pain when he did manage to force in a full breath. This and much more swirled through the forefront of his mind for that brief moment.

Then he opened his eyes again, and the moment passed, the memories that came with that moment were back where they belonged, as far away from the front of his mind as he could push them. Taking a deep breath, and being thankful for being able to do the action without pain, William threw his T-shirt on and then finished getting dressed. His watch showed that it was 0415.

As Lieutenant Corgi opened the door to exit his quarters, he met a rather nervous looking Pfc Sandbar on the other side of the door. "Uh sir, I have some bad news to give." Sandbar said to his superior, bracing for what was to come.

"What is it Sandbar? It better be something important." Corgi asked the marine, he was prepared to go through the routine he went through when Petty Officer Third Class Simon Lake had joined his team.

"The Barracks pantry is all out of Coffee Sir." Sandbar said with a dreadful tone.

Corgi blinked a couple times in confusion. "Are we really out of Coffee Sandbar?" He asked him, in a way that sounded like he couldn't believe what he had just heard.

"I'm afraid so sir. I checked everywhere." The marine answered honestly.

 _'Oh_ ** _Hell_** _no.'_ Was Corgi's only thought at the situation. His surprised expression morphed into a scowl which made Raphael flinch ever so slightly. "Well, guess we'll have to head over to the base mess hall to get coffee and a bite to eat on the go. We've got time, and I sure the dogs will behave themselves until we're back." William said with a hint of resignation.

"Are you certain that's a wise idea, Sir?" Raphael said with a palpable measure of unease. William couldn't blame him for that unease, but he gave the marine a curt nod.

"Yes Sandbar, but that's only because I know the dogs won't do any funny business since I'm the acting CO here, right?" The Lieutenant said to Sandbar, though the last word was accompanied by his gaze shifting down to the PT Corgi that had crept up to the two to listen in.

William was amused when the dog straightened up like a precision milled ramrod. Head up, eyes forward, ears pointed straight ahead and its short tail stood at exactly 55 degrees, the dog raised its front paw as high as it could without disturbing the rest of its stance. It was what the Lieutenant long ago realized was the PT boat version of a salute since the dogs didn't have the anatomy to give a proper Navy Salute.

"See Raphael, they won't misbehave, but we better hurry, because they will try to sortie themselves if we're late. And take it from me, the mess that gets generated from that is a nightmare and a half to clean up." The Lieutenant said with a grave voice as the marine stepped aside to allow him through, before following hot on his heels. There was Coffee to be had, and they didn't have time to take the scenic route, though they didn't have to run yet either. [=]  
Raphael Sandbar was many things, tall however wasn't one of them being all of 5'6" in height. He found himself almost breaking out into a jog to keep up the Lieutenant's brisk walk, then again though, the Lieutenant towered over him at an impressive 6'2". Lieutenant Corgi just simply had a much longer stride than he did. Though Sandbar couldn't help but notice that Corgi seemed to be thinner than he should be given how loose his NWU jacket seemed to hang around his neck. As if though the Lt burned off far more than he took in more often than not.

William for his part, walked across the base with Raphael at a brisk clip in the predawn hours as he mulled over what it could have been that one of PT Corgis sneaked out for last night. His legs moved on autopilot as his mind thought of and almost as quickly discarded different ideas at what it could have been. He needed to figure it out sooner rather than later, just in case if it was something that was going cause him headaches later.

It was when they were passing one of the buildings where the K-blimps liked to laze about that Corgi heard the salty, aggravated gravelly voice of an MCPO, Corgi knew it had to be an MCPO, few people had such equal measures of salt, gravel, and at times barely restrained anger for the crap they're dealing with in their voices as MCPO's did. "For _**fucks**_ sake where did this fucking cat get a fish this goddamn big anyways and why do they always leave these fucking things around like their some kind of goddamn present?!" The voice more or less roared out in frustration from the roof of the building.

Hearing the calm peace of the slowly waking naval base be shattered by the old sailor's fury made Lieutenant Corgi raise an eyebrow, he knew K-blimps behavior, if only because they got into enough scuffles with the PT Boats that he _had_ to spend some of his precious time observing the damn floating cats to figure out when they were likely to start shit with his dogs.

And from those long-ago observations, William knew that the cats were rather lazy creatures, they would hunt, as all cats do. But they usually went for more easy pickings, or just floated down and stole some fisherman's catch from time to time. He and Sandbar had made it a few dozen yards past the building that had a fuming MCPO on its roof when he spotted something, a fish head, a _big_ fish head that was partially eaten and laying on the pavement.

Despite its state, William could gauge that the fish had to have been 25 pounds at least, something that was a fair bit more troublesome than what a K-blimp would be willing to put up with for a fishy snack. William briefly regarded the fish head and then moved on towards the mess hall, which was now coming into sight. He had a _very_ good idea now though what happened last night. But the reasons behind it, he couldn't discern the why though. And that worried him more than he was willing to admit.

Regardless though, He was going to have words with the PT Corgis after he gets some coffee and a quick bite to eat on the go.

While there were a few early risers in the mess hall, it was mostly empty. William did spot a pair of ship girls sitting at one table, destroyers from the looks of it, their cruiser minder must've been somewhere in line still. However William didn't dwell on the fact, rather he moved with an appreciable amount grace despite not having a drop of caffeine in his system.

Though because he had no caffeine in him currently and he was in deep, brooding thought about what one of his PT Boats could have been doing with a K-blimp that ended with the PT corgi giving one of the floating cats a fish. Lieutenant William Wallace Corgi had a most terrifying expression on his face, one that brokered no argument and demanded answers to questions even if the Lt didn't ask any.

But William wasn't thinking about any of that, rather he was thinking of gulping down as much of the life-giving black elixir as possible. While he might have been able to worry about what it was that one of his dogs were doing at night without Coffee, he knew he'd barely able to do much of anything else without it. Occasionally he dunked a donut he had grabbed from the line into the coffee before wolfing it down so he'd be able to say he ate something this morning.

He realized that he had utterly drained his coffee mug by the time he got to end of the line. Taking a moment to wolf down some sausage links and finish off the last donut he had picked up before he took care of his tray and doubled back for more coffee.

The fact that Corgi didn't sit down at all for the five and a half minutes he was in the mess hall before he left it with a refiled coffee mug in one hand and a bagel in the other may have been very strange to some people. Others though would have rationalized it as being par the course for someone who had perhaps too much work and not enough help to get it all done. Most however might have been silently thankful that the heavy and perhaps intimidating aura that was hanging around the LT was gone now.

Raphael Sandbar was just plain confused as he got out of the mess line with coffee and a breakfast burrito. He was right behind the Lt and yet the man somehow blurred on ahead and out of mess hall before the marine had finished going through the line. "How the hell does he move that fast without running?" Raphael said quietly to himself before someone spoke up behind him.

"That's because William has spent a _long_ time with the PT Corgis. Kinda have to be fast to keep up with those dogs. _Especially_ if you think they're up to mischief of some sort." Spoke the familiar voice of Lieutenant Gallow. Sandbar did not jump forward slightly with a squeak of surprise. He just merely stepped forward involuntarily and turned around on the heel of his combat boots.

"Save the formality marine, you don't need it right this moment," Gallow spoke preemptively to Sandbar as the latter downed a quarter of his coffee in one go to wash down the hearty bite he took out of his burrito.

"Yes, sir." Sandbar said more on reflex than conscious thought after he swallowed the bite. "Is he always like this?" Sandbar asked Gallow as he took another bite.

"Not particularly. Listen, you might wanna hurry along back to him Marine, something tells me he's gonna need your help." Gallow said as he sat down at a table and took a lazy bite out of an egg and bacon sandwich.

Sandbar gave Gallow a nod as he finished off his coffee and burrito before put up the tray and mug and then hurry out the door. [=]  
When Lieutenant Corgi entered the PT Boat Barracks, the dogs quickly gathered round, but the glare on the Lieutenant's face didn't let up. "Alright, which one of you snuck out last night and why?" He asked them in a manner that wasn't too dissimilar to a father asking his kids why they came home late.

Instantly all the Corgis started to look around, occasionally they'd meet William's hard inquisitively stare before looking away, all except one. It didn't take William long to notice that one dog didn't even look him in the eye all at. _'So they're the one'_ he thought to himself before he picked the PT boat up.

The corgi felt like it was at least ten kilos heavier than its appearance suggested but the Lieutenant barely noticed the weight. "Alright, what did you do?" He asked softly, but with steel hiding behind the soft tone of his words. The dog looked at him for a brief moment, before a fairy crawled out from its collar and told him something with a series of "Heys"

The Lieutenant's face fell a bit and then twisted in confusion and deep concern. "What? Payment for Services rendered? What services? And why did you go to a blimp cat? ... What do you _**mean**_ I'm better off not knowing! What did you _do_!?" William said the last part in utter exasperation before he brought the dog a bit closer to his face after the Fairy didn't elaborate further.

"Whatever you did, it better not come back to blow up in my face later, got it? Because if I get in trouble for it, yer fluffy butt will belong to DesDiv17, and word from the scuttlebutt is that they've found some _'amazingly kawaii'_ costumes sold off base that they wanna put some of y'all in. Maybe I should see if that rumor is true or not." Lieutenant Corgi spoke in a level, matter of fact manner. It wasn't often that he had to talk to the dogs like this, but with everything he had observed since waking up and what the PT boat he was currently holding _did_ say to him. The few ideas of what it could have been that saw this Corgi sneaking out, catching and then _giving_ one of the K-blimps a big fish from the lake last night didn't bode well.

From the frantic _"Heys"_ coming from the fairy balanced on top of the Corgi's head and the small up and down shakes of the head, the Corgi itself gave him. William knew the dog understood him clearly. With that matter settled, he placed the corgi back down and gave it a quick head pat before he started moving to get the Dogs ready for the day.

Pfc Sandbar got walked in through the door just as William started taking out the bags of Dog food.

The rest of their morning would go rather smoothly. Where's elsewhere, a certain Gunnery Sergeant was finding himself in a rather unenviable position. [=]  
Gunnery Sergeant Jim Clayton was not having the best of mornings. Not that the dogs were giving him and the PT Corgi support staff of Port Fourchon more of a hassle than normal with getting ready for sortie and the changing of the patrol rotations. That went smoothly. No, it was something infinitely more annoying.

The Fairies of Port Fourchon's PT Corgi night patrol rotation was trolling him, _again._

Jim knew they existed, he knew they were around, but for the life of him despite his best attempts, he could never see the little fuckers. Not directly anyway.

Jim also knew that they knew he couldn't see them, or perhaps they simply didn't choose to reveal themselves to him. He honestly didn't know or frankly care about that.

Rather what he did care about was the fact that his Coffee Mug twice now had been moved to a slightly different part of the desk he was sitting at currently. Usually when he briefly looked away to reread part of the post-patrol reports that would be aggregated into an overall report of the night's patrol findings.

Jim didn't have the kind of ability William had to look at a post-patrol report once and be able to transcribe its contents into the overall report. He had to look back at the large postage stamp piece of paper a couple of times to make sure he didn't screw anything up.

Of course, the Fairies would take that moment to move something around on the desk. Whether it was his Coffee mug, a pen, a paperweight or some other small item; not that it was delaying his work, well except for the Coffee. But it only delayed things for as long as it took for him to grab the handle and take another generous sip of the life-giving liquid.

Clayton set the mug down and went to read the next report. Except he noticed that the paper clip holder had been moved closer than it had been before. Clayton sighed and moved it back to where it belonged before he picked up the little report and began transcribing its contents.

For being unable to see the little gremlins, Clayton was glad that he could read and understand the little reports they wrote and left on the desk. Even if it threatened to give him a migraine whenever he tried to figure out how that was possible.

He reached over for the Coffee mug and his hand closed around empty air instead of the mug's handle. He finished transcribing the sentence he was working up before his eyes shot up to where his hand was, and he noticed that the Coffee mug was a few centimeters to the right of it.

"All right ya little shits, I know ya still in here. If Today's the day I finally see one of ya, I'm gonna grab and shake ya like the Corgis do with a new squeaky toy!" Clayton spoke in what amounted to a low bark. He eyed the desk's contents suspiciously, _daring_ for any of the objects on it to move in front of his steely gaze.

When nothing did, he huffed once and got back to work. He went a solid five minutes before a commotion outside tore him away from his task with just one report left to transcribe. "Oh now, what's going on?" Clayton groaned.

"MOTHER FUCKER THEY GOT INTO MY PEANUT BUTTER STASH!" Roared Pfc Ellen before Jim heard a series of swears doppler past the door to the office. Clayton didn't know why, nor did he want to know why, but the woman loved her peanut butter sandwiches and she got rather peeved when there wasn't any Peanut Butter in the Barracks.

Though this was his first time learning that she kept a stash of the stuff somewhere in the Barracks building, from the way the sound of her swears changed pitch as she had passed the door, he guessed Lisa must've kept the stash in her room. Jim sighed and went on to finish transcribing the last patrol report before checking the compiled report one last time. When he saw that nothing was amiss, he sent it up the chain of command.

"William, please get back to us soon. The dogs just have way too much energy lately." Jim said with a sigh as he got up from the desk, the desk normally occupied by the Lt and walked out into the rest of the barracks. Jim would swear that the dogs seemed to be celebratory about something he couldn't even begin to guess at, given the energy which they ran around the main room.

Jim felt in his bones that today was gonna be a _long_ day. [=]  
Lieutenant William Corgi had finished compiling the night patrol's post-patrol report early and was now helping Private First Class Sandbar wash the PT Corgis just outside of the Barracks building. He had his NWU sleeves rolled so they wouldn't get soaked. Though this did end up showing a handful of small scars that dotted his arms, scars from his days before the Navy when he raised and trained hunting dogs.

William was very glad that the dogs weren't giving him any trouble with their washes, at least going as far as to not shake off before they got out of the tin tub. Thus he was at best; slightly damp from when the Corgis did shake off before Sandbar had the chance to close the towel around them completely.

William took comfort in the fact that the Corgi he was rinsing off now was the last one. Poor Sandbar had to have been soaked to his boots by now.

Though William didn't notice that a marine was coming closer to his location until they were about 25 yards away, it was only then that William noticed the marine, he rolled down the Sleeves of his NWU's, got up and approached the man. "Can I help you, Marine?"

"This is for you, sir." The marine responded before handing him an envelope. William blinked as he took it and opened it up as the other marine left. As he read what was written a small smile crossed his face just as Raphael came up behind him.

"What is that Sir?" Sandbar asked Corgi rather inquisitively.

"Just something from Admiral Raleigh, He wants to discuss with me about who's gonna replace LTJG Jackson at this posting. Don't worry Raphael; I'll make damn sure that whoever takes over here takes good care of you and the dogs. I'll _personally_ vet Jackson's replacement before I head back to Port Fourchon." William said to the other with a reassuring smile. He noticed that the dogs were acting in a manner that was usually reserved for when they were getting two thick strips of fresh cooked Bacon as a reward for a particularly well-done job.

He didn't think much of it as he went off towards the administration building; the Lieutenant was glad that the Admiral found someone to take over management of the PT Corgis in New Orleans. Though he would ask his superior if he could speak with whoever was going to replace LTJG Jackson before they officially took over the posting and he returned to his posting in Port Fourchon. He wanted to make certain that the mess with Jackson wasn't repeated again. [=]

Gunnery Sergeant Clayton had _just_ finished three and a half hours of washing the PT Corgis of the night patrol rotation with the help of his Marines and Petty Officer Third Class Lake; Sanderson was busy doing maintenance on the PT Boat's Rigging. Washing the PT Corgis was a task and a half itself, given the amount of built-up salt from sea spray that had to be washed from their double coat of fur alone.

When they got covered in mud or something sticky it was even more of a process to get them cleaned up again. Though how exactly did a full half of the dogs of the night patrol rotation end up with blotches of Peanut butter stuck to their fur baffled Clayton to no end.

He tried asking Ellen about what happened but her responses only baffled him further. Well, he couldn't complain too much, the dogs were due for their weekly wash in two days anyway, and the peanut butter debacle helped him get out of washing all the dogs on his own as the price for losing the keep away game two days ago at least.

Though he and everyone else helping him save for Lance Corporal Desmond were _drenched_ with the water the dogs shook off of themselves before they happily leaped into the awaiting dry towels Desmond held out.

Jim would readily admit watching the dogs get dried off was kind of adorable. They looked so happy to be clean and dry, even though he knew that chances are that they'll end up muddy or otherwise messy again sometime soon. Especially if they were going in for scheduled baths soon, much to his dismay.

"Hey Gunny, what with the transport trucks pulling up to the barracks, I don't remember seeing anything about us getting something like that." Sergeant Banks spoke with a confused tone, causing Jim to turn and see that a pair of heavy duty transports was coming their way. Clayton was confused, very confused at the sight because those trucks were normally the kind used to transport ship girls.

The Last time Gunnery Sergeant Clayton had checked, there wasn't any Ship Girls currently assigned to Port Fourchon, nor were any being assigned to it in the immediate future to best of his knowledge. So the Heavy Duty transports pulling up to the PT Boat Barracks confused the hell out of him.

That confusion grew, even more, when he saw people get out of the backs of the trucks, from the looks of their uniforms Clayton could see that these were _Army_ personnel. Eight of them total disembarked from the two trucks carrying with them a sizable suitcase and a large duffel bag each.

Clayton stood up as one of the Army personnel walked up to him. "Are you Gunnery Sergeant Jim Clayton?" The Army trooper asked him with strict professionalism.

"Yes I am, who are you and what's going on here soldier?" Clayton said in response to the man's question. He wanted answers and he wanted them yesterday.

"Sergeant First Class Stacker, we're here to manage the PT Boats stationed here." Stacker said to Clayton, and Clayton couldn't help but smile at hearing the news.

"Thank God, I never thought Lieutenant Corgi would able to get some of the Army's Dog handlers to help us out here." Clayton said with relief on his face. Those this relief was short lived as Jim saw Stacker's expression change.

"Gunny, that's not it, we're taking over operations here while you, the rest of Lieutenant Corgi's staff and six of the PT boat squadrons stationed here are transferred over to New Orleans effective immediately." Sergeant First Class Stacker said to Clayton in an almost apologetic manner.

"What?" The sheer flatness that Clayton said the word within his response to Stacker's statement was flatter than the flattest flattop. Jim honestly thought he misheard the other, he just couldn't believe what he had just heard. "Say that again SFC. Stacker, I think I didn't hear that clearly." Clayton spoke with complete disbelief.

Stacker for his part placed his duffel bag down and pulled a pair of envelopes out of his breast pocket before handing them over to Clayton to read. Clayton took the envelopes and noticed that one was unopened and was from the Navy; the other envelope was from the Army and was already opened.

Clayton opened the Navy Envelope and read the letter that was inside. His mouth hung open as the letter confirmed what the Army Sergeant had told him.

"Stacker, how long does my team have before we depart for New Orleans?" Clayton asked with a stony expression on his face.

"About an hour, hour and a half top Gunny." Was Stacker's swift response to Clayton's question, Jim couldn't help but bit his lip a bit as he mulled things over.

"None of this makes sense, _Army_ in charge of handling Navy Dogs on a Navy facility?" Clayton said with palpable exasperation at the absurdity of the situation he was now being confronted with.

"I know Gunny, Hell everything stopped making sense when those demons from the depths appeared, and any chance of normalcy coming back went right out the window when the world heard the first Dess," Stacker said with a completely straight face.

Clayton looked at Stacker for a moment, before he started laughing. Jim would give credit to the Army man for making him chuckle, even if the army Sergeant was completely correct about the statement. Jim still had to laugh a bit, it was the only way to keep sane in the madhouse that the world had become.

"Alright Stacker, I'll tell the others to pack their things and get ready to depart within the hour. However, before my team leaves, I need to know which PT Boat Squadrons are staying behind." Clayton said to the other as he led the Army personnel to the PT Boat Barracks.

"Just one squadron from the day rotation and one from the night rotation Gunnery Sergeant, that's all." Stacker replied crisply.

"Okay, Oh and before I forget, there is a 38-page booklet that Lieutenant Corgi wrote up detailing how to manage the PT Corgis. I _highly_ suggest you read it if you wanna avoid learning a lot of things about the PT boats the hard way, among other things." Jim said to the other as he opened the door to the Barracks. The nod the other gave him at least took off some of the tension Jim felt building up in his shoulders. Oh, he knew his outfit was in for interesting times ahead.

Though as he told everyone else of his unit what was going on, and then made the radio call to the deployed day patrol rotation about which ones would be returning to New Orleans and which ones would be returning to Port Fourchon, one thought remained at that back of his mind.

 _When is William going to be informed of this development?_ [=]  
Lieutenant William Corgi walked out of the Admiral's office with a fairly neutral expression on his face after his meeting with his overall superior was done. He kept up the professional appearance he had maintained all throughout the half-hour meeting until he was about two dozen paces away from the door to the Admiral's office and around the corner of the hallway.

It was only then that William allowed himself to falter, with an almost explosive sigh. The Lieutenant placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. His left eye twitched a fair bit and his hands were shaking to a degree.

"This _has_ to be some kind of punishment for all the personnel requests I sent in last eight months. It just has to be. It's either that or maybe this is some kind of test he's putting me through. There's just no way can I fully believe that I'm the best at my job that he knows, just no damn way, he's a flag officer. There's gotta be at least six other people that are as good as or better than me at managing PT boats." Corgi mumbled to himself as he mostly pulled himself together and continued on out of the administration building.

When William entered the PT Boat Barracks, the PT Corgis sensed something wasn't right with him and gathered around his legs like a small fluffy fleet of escorts. Moving in sync with his footsteps and only partially dispersing to allow him to collapse onto one of the couches face-first with a miserable groan.

"I'm doomed." Lieutenant Corgi groaned out with his face between the couch cushions, he was suddenly feeling far older than he actually was. Sandbar took a seat on the neighboring couch.

"Lieutenant is something wrong sir?" Sandbar asked Corgi, from the short time he had come to know the man; Raphael figured that him acting like this wasn't something that happened often, if ever, without good reason. The Lieutenant for his part lifted his face out of the cushions of the couch with a look in his eyes that could be likened to that of a dead fish.

"Yes, Raphael. Something's very wrong and it's about who's taking over LTJG Jackson's posting here." William spoke with an almost monotone voice that was tinted with faint despair.

"Who's taking over the LTJG's post sir?" Sandbar spoke quietly, nervousness now creeping into the Marine's voice.

"Me." Corgi said with a slight groan. This made Sandbar very _very_ confused. The PT Corgis, on the other hand, got very excited and started to run around the main room in what appeared to have been victory laps as fast as their stubby little legs could take them.

"Sir, I don't follow why that's a bad thing." Sandbar said, not sure how exactly the Lt. would take his statement. He watched Corgi sit up on the couch and face him. A look of dread and exasperation creased his face.

"Because that means my Staff is getting transferred here along with most of the PT Boats we were handling out in Port Fourchon. This after I finally got the Corgis we were managing in Port Fourchon to lose the last of the bad habits they had picked up here in New Orleans and now there's a fair chance they'll relearn those bad habits."

"Sir, I'm certain tha-" Sandbar started to say but stopped when the Lt. raised his index finger to stop him from finishing that statement.

"It's not just that Sandbar. There are far more K-type blimps here than there was at Port Fourchon. Far, far more, and now there's going to be far more PT Corgis here than there was for the last two months. Those blimpcats aren't gonna take too kindly to seeing so many dogs flood the base again after spending two months with at most 8 of them being present at any given time. How many more scuffles do you think are gonna happen between the two groups Marine?" William said with a large hint of resignation in his voice.

Sandbar thought of it for a moment and then his eyes went wide as the realization hit him like a train. The Lt saw this and nodded at the marine.

"Seems like ya realized it, a bunch of people is gonna end up being kept up by the racket they'll make if and _when_ they get into a scuffle. This means sooner or later, I'll have to answer a rather annoyed ship girl whose beauty rest has been interrupted by the Cats and dogs fighting, in addition to dealing with the paperwork that'll come from the inevitable noise complaints. More paperwork from reorganizing the PT Squadrons, getting the needed supply forms filled out and sent, redrawing the patrol routes for the PT boats to accommodate the changes being stationed in New Orleans brings to how far out they can go. And SECNAV knows what else may come! New Orleans might be tamer than other Ship girl bases in most respects. But that's just for everyone else!" The Lieutenant said with exasperation as he threw his hands up into the air.

"But for us PT Boat Handlers. It's the third most chaotic place to be stationed at! Only Everett and _anywhere_ in Florida are worse, with the Florida Key West station being the worst of them all! You wouldn't think that four PT Corgis could cause so much trouble, but I know a colleague who's manning the Key West station who has to deal with PT Boats who have a very hard time not herding all those protected chickens every day." He said before letting his arms fall to his sides and sitting back on the couch. The Lt. exhaled and seemed to sink into the couch a bit as the steam left him.

"And what makes Naval Station Everett so chaotic for the likes of us sir?" Sandbar asked, wonder what was so bad about that place for PT Boat Handlers like him and the Lt.

"All of those Destroyers stationed there Raphael. They spoil the small handful of PT boats stationed there completely rotten." Corgi said in a flat monotone before wiping his brow. He glanced at Sandbar and realized there was a question the marine wanted to ask but was hesitant to do. William figured what the young marine wanted to ask him and so he beat him to the question.

"To answer the question you probably have, you're being reassigned to my unit Sandbar." William said to the Pfc to assure his unspoken concerns. The Lieutenant gave a ghost of a smile when he saw the marine relax completely at the statement. Though William checked his watch and noticed the time. He remembered that the admiral had informed him that his team and the day patrol would arrive in trucks within the next few hours. The Lieutenant sighed and then stood up from the couch.

"Okay, enough mopping about, we need to prepare for what's coming Sandbar." William spoke with a sense of renewed vigor, even if his voice held a measure of resignation in it. "Ah, this may be kinda dumb to ask but, did anything happen while I was over at Administration?" He asked the marine.

"Not much sir, just a pair of enlisted coming in to remove LTJG Jackson's personal effects from his quarters." Was the swift response from Sandbar, William gave a nod at the other's response before he motioned for the young marine to come with him.

There was much to do before everyone else showed up and William didn't want to hear Clayton complain about him commandeering his room. Or worse, have Clayton take _his_ quarters instead. William knew his friend well enough to know that it was a thing Jim would totally do. [=]  
Gunnery Sergeant Jim Clayton was in Hell. The kind of hot and humid Hell that only could be produced by 18 excited PT Corgis in the back of a transport port truck with him, two other people and the bags and boxes of their personal effects that couldn't fit up front in the cab. He sincerely hoped that they were about to pull into New Orleans soon.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could take the rocking motion the truck had as the dogs moved from one side of the back to the other seemingly every other second to look out a window. Let alone the heat in the back. The AC, despite being on full blast, just simply couldn't handle all the heat generated from the energetic PT Corgis moving about inside.

Clayton was thankful that the AC was at least keeping the temperature in the back survivable, even it wasn't comfortable. He glanced at the other two people who were back here with him, Banks and Sanderson, to see how they were holding up to the car ride. Sgt. Banks looked like he was green around the gills but the plucky Sergeant gave him a thumbs up.

"Don't worry Gunny, I'm not gonna lose my lunch in here." Banks said to Clayton with all the bravado he could muster.

CW5 Sanderson, in contrast, looked far better than Banks did or how Clayton felt beyond being very sweaty. "How can you remain so unaffected by all this Sanderson?" Clayton asked the Navy Warrant Officer with a curious tone.

"Simple Gunny, I grew up in South Florida and rode airboats in the swamps all the time as a kid and teenager. This isn't anything compared to the jostling those things could give. Heat and Humidity is bout the same as summertime thou." Sanderson said, letting his accent slip a through.

"I wonder how Lisa, Simon, and Stanley are holding up in the other truck." Banks said as he glanced to doors that of the back of the truck, some distance beyond which was the second transport truck.

"If we're lucky, Lisa is just feeling dizzy and overheated." Clayton started before Sanderson spoke the other half of the statement he himself refused to say.

"If we're not, then Ellen's thrown up twice in there already." Sanderson said in a resigned tone like he was expecting that to be the case. Clayton shot Sanderson a rather harsh glare.

"Don't fuckin Jinx it Sanderson, we can _try_ to be hopeful for once you know!" Clayton all but hissed out between his teeth.

Whatever it was that Sanderson was about to say next was lost to history because one of the Corgis spotted something familiar out of one of the windows and started to bark happily. And then they all started happily barking inside the truck with great enthusiasm, much to the misery of their human handlers riding in the back with them.

Even though he and the other two with him covered their ears with their hands; the sound inside the back of the enclosed transport was just a couple yards short of deafening. But it did tell them one thing. They just pulled into New Orleans, which meant they had 15 minutes at most before they'd be out of the trucks.

Lieutenant Corgi had just finished with the last of the cleaning and other preparations when they heard the sound of the transport trucks pulling up to the Barracks. William knew it couldn't be anything else other than the transports, because he could faintly hear the barking from inside the Barracks building. He nodded to Sandbar and the two hurried out the door.

If William was asked, he'd say it was almost ominous how the sound from the transports came to a sudden stop as he and Raphael approached them. William motioned the marine to go open the back doors of one truck while he did the other. They both stood off to the side of a door on their respective trucks before they opened them.

It never ceased to amuse, amaze and utterly _baffle_ the Lieutenant, in that order, to watch the suspension of a Transport truck bonce up and down slightly every time one of the PT Corgis jumped out of the back and landed on the ground with a rather heavy thud.

Following the dogs out just a minute later was Clayton, Banks and Sanderson, each of them carrying a couple boxes, a duffel bag or both. William helped them down and noticed that they were drenched in sweat. "Rough ride Gunny?" He asked his friend Clayton knowing full well what the answer was.

"Yeah William, It was a rough ride. Almost fifteen minutes of non-stop barking as we pulled into the city made it all the worse." Jim groaned out as he stepped off the truck. William gave his friend a sympathetic pat on the back. He glanced over to the second truck and saw Pfc Sandbar helping Simon, Lisa, and Stanley out of the second truck.

William winced when he saw Pfc Ellen; poor girl looked like she was a quarter second from hurling. He was honestly surprised that she hadn't hurled during the trip.

"All right Gunny, What is there to unload from here and where's my personal effects?" The Lieutenant asked the Gunnery Sergeant.

"Everything else that wasn't in the back with us is up front in the Cab Lieutenant. I'll give ya a hand with it after I set this stuff inside." Clayton said as he, Banks and Sanderson hurried off. William turned back to see if Pfc Ellen had improved any bit, he was relieved to see that she looked less sick than before given that she was carrying her stuff to the PT Barracks building now.

The Lieutenant also noticed that Pfc Sandbar was heading up to the front of the truck to start unloading what was packed there. That was his cue to unload his personal effects from the front of his transport truck. Moving up to the front and opening the door, Corgi carefully removed a stack of two small boxes that were labeled 'Memories of friends departed' and 'for if the worse was to come' respectively.

"Do you want me to help you with that Sir?" The marine driver of the truck asked William.

"No Marine, You've probably had enough with moving the PT Boats; I ain't gonna trouble ya any further with my units' things." He said in a frank manner to the marine, who simply nodded once before he relaxed in his seat.

These two boxes were not the only personal effects William had, he had a large box that had everything else in his quarters and a medium box that had every personal item in his office to get as well, but these two small boxes were the items he had the highest priority to get inside and in his quarters. As he was coming in with those boxes he saw Clayton jog by, giving him a small nod as he passed.

This Signaled to Corgi that Clayton himself had packed up the items in these two boxes, thus keeping their contents unknown to others. Which made him breathe a sigh of relief, he didn't want anyone other than Clayton to know what laid within the latter, and he didn't like talking about what was in the former all too much because of what it reminded him of what he had lost, what he had gone through on that fourth day of that horrible week.

[=]

It didn't take long for the members of the U.S. Navy's 5th Patrol Torpedo Boat Support Unit, or more colloquially named 'Dog Squad' to finish unloading the trucks and settle back into their old base of operations, New Orleans.

The rest of the Afternoon and Evening went without much of a fuss beyond some initial confusion of which PT boats for the Night Patrol Rotation would sortie and the expected madness that'd come from feeding forty-four PT Corgis of the returning day rotation.

Though now with the sun having already set, Lieutenant William Wallace Corgi sat in his office and concluded transcribing the last of the patrol reports from the day patrol rotation before sending them up the chain of command.

The only real thing of note in today's patrol reports was that a dozen floating mines had been discovered and destroyed about 50 miles from the coastline of Pensacola, Florida.

But the fact that such things had been found at all troubled the Lieutenant greatly. While he wasn't Admiral Raleigh and thus he didn't possess the power of divination that Flag Officers all seemingly had. He knew that only two things could possibly deploy sea mines without being readily spotted were submarines or some kind of long-range PT boat.

While both possibilities disturbed the Lieutenant, a third perhaps equally disturbing thought came to him a minute after he sent the report to his superior. "It could be that these were deployed a while ago and they've just now drifted that close because of the currents." William said quietly to himself as he pulled up an image the Ocean Currents within the Gulf.

While the image of the Gulf Stream currents made the idea of the ocean currents having pushed the mines to the location there found in, it didn't ease any of the tension William felt. In fact, it only ratcheted it up slightly as he tried to think of where those mines could have been deployed originally to have ended up being carried by the currents to where they had been found off the coast of Pensacola.

However before he could think any further on it, he heard a knock on his door. "Enter." William said with a strong hint of tiredness in his voice. He saw his friend Jim enter the room. Holding a large and familiar kind of can in his hands, a coffee can. And there was a note on top of the can as well.

"I was about to head out with everyone else to get something from the mess hall when I saw this at the front of the door, damn near kicked the thing when I stepped out. I sent everyone else ahead to get chow, but I figured you needed to see this William. Because I have no goddamn idea what this is all about or what it means." The Gunnery Sergeant said before leaving the coffee can and note on the Lieutenant's desk and departing for the mess hall.

Lieutenant Corgi picked up the note and read it, whoever wrote it she, and he was certain it was a she, was apologizing for taking the Coffee that was for the PT Boat Barracks from supply. Raising an eyebrow from the way the note was written, William picked up the can and noticed it was lighter than it should have been.

Popping the can open, he saw the stay fresh seal had been removed and so had been a quarter of the Coffee inside. William looked at the note again with a strong suspicion of the kind of person who wrote it and this time he gave it a sniff, just to confirm something he had suspected. On the note, he smelled the sea... and a small hint of Diesel fumes on the paper among a few other things, which told him one thing, a submarine wrote this note, which meant now he knew why the requisitioned coffee had failed to show up on time. Thus leaving the PT boat barracks without coffee.

William found himself grinding his teeth in frustration as he closed and took the can back to the pantry cabinet that was next to the Barracks Coffee machine. "Damn Subthieves," William grumbled to himself as he went about the rest of his night. [=] 


	75. Wolfbait Chronicles 4

[=] 

"The hell do you mean 'Richardson sent chibis to your house!?'"

The news had taken me by complete surprise. My sister was a goddamned _idiot_ for not keeping her opinions to herself. I could barely keep myself calm, my chest heaving.

"J-Jane s-said that maybe y-your sister could be cheered up?" Haguro nervously replied. She was fidgeting _hard_ , as was understandable.

"Mother _fucker_!" I shouted, banging my hand against the table. "My sister is going to be laid up in Saint Thomas _for the rest of her goddamn life_ because of this!"

"Isn't that a resort?" Myoukou asked.

"Saint Thomas isn't a resort. It's Akron's goddamned _insane asylum_. People who underwent psychotic breaks are kept there so they don't go off into the wild blue yonder seeking God, or killing their families because they might be government agents!" I informed them. "That girl made a mistake," I said, before burying my face in my hands. "She made a _big goddamn mistake_."

"Jim?"

I felt Ashigara put her hand on me. She was starting to become aware that I didn't like to be touched too much, especially with no warning. The sensation of her fingers slowly pressing against my back practically sent a shock through me. "What is it?" I asked, turning my head around.

"What exactly is going on with your sister?"

I closed my eyes and let out a low sigh. She was like me, willing to skip past the bullshit. Opening them and centering myself, I could see concern in hers, even a bit of fear. She had never seen me angry, and there was a _reason_ why I didn't try and get angry. "I need a drink first. Somethin' hard, too. Does Nachi keep a stash around here?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Myoukou replied, before dashing into their room. She popped out a minute or so later, a short stretch that felt like an eternity. "I know she has difficulty…" she took a deep, measured breath. "…dealing with the nature of this war? Is that correct?"

She grabbed a shot glass and filled it, handing it to me. She said it was rum, spiced with something. I put the glass to my lips and tipped back, feeling the hard _sting_ of the alcohol going down, followed by that nice, fuzzy warmth of a good drink. Thank god the legal age was 20 around these parts.

"An understatement if I've heard one," I remarked, taking a deep breath. "Cathy's a long story, but the short of it is that she dealt with a lot, and then the War happened."

"May I ask what exactly?"

Another deep breath. "Our dad suddenly died a few years back, amidst a whole bunch of family drama that's not my story to tell. Short of it is that my mom's family got back in touch with her, and they weren't happy," I began. "But it left an impact on Cathy. She lashed out, had a hard time at school, even beat a kid up," I paused, trying to keep myself centered. "We managed to get her help, though, but mom and I knew it was only a matter of time before something made her fall off the deep end."

"The Abyssals," Haguro said.

I nodded. "The funny thing is, she _saw_ what was on the TV. She saw those images of pre-dreads ripping our carriers to shreds, and it _did something_ to her. She refused to believe that was what was happening, and she still does."

"So how does she explain this war, then?" I heard Ashigara ask.

I let out a laugh, a bitter one. "She thinks I signed up to fight a war against the Russians and Chinese, nevermind the fact that the latter are just flat-out _gone_. But even though the Cold War is over, everyone knows those two countries have lots of nukes pointed our way, and she thinks the whole 'Sea Demons' thing was made up to keep people from panicking over it."

"That's…"

A silence fell upon the room with the dropping of that bombshell. The three women were either trying not to drop their jaws to the floor, or were picking them up. " _Yeah_ ," I said. "And every shipgirl is but a cosplayer, too, before you ask."

"She…" Myoukou gulped, her hand shaking as she removed her glasses. "…thinks we're actresses?"

"And that Ashigara is desperate, and will likely ditch me for some other man the first chance she gets."

I could feel her fuming behind me, shells being loaded into the breeches and rifles being removed from their racks. "She thinks my love for you is _fake_!?" Ashigara barked, before huffing and puffing behind me. She was about ready to blow my house down, but could she sail up the Cuyahoga and get in range, though?

"The only reason I know is because my mother forbids me from blocking her text messages," I added. "Cathy wanted me to date one of her friends, and thinks I joined the Navy because I was too cowardly to fix the problems at home left in the wake of my dad's death."

"I need to call up Nachi," Myoukou said before rising from her seat. They were on the warpath now. "I had suspected something was strange when I talked to her on Instagram, but this is…"

She couldn't even finish her sentence.

"May I see those texts?" Ashigara asked. I took my phone out of my pocket and unlocked it, pulling up the messages and handing it over. I could see her eyes widen in the corner of mine, no doubt _shocked_ at what she was seeing.

Another sigh left me, as I realized that I likely fucked up. I felt numb, barely able to move as Ashigara scrolled further and further up. Only the most recent ones concerned her directly, but Cathy had sent _dozens_ , all implying or outright telling me to break things off.

 _'_ _It's part of her facade'_

 _'My friends miss you.'_

 _'Leave her and this war and come home.'_

"I…" Ashigara gasped. "W-What is this all about? Does she hate me that much?"

Myoukou and Haguro stepped over, eyes no doubt going wide at my sister's texts. "It is clear that we need to have a little _chat_ with this girl," Myoukou growled. "Nobody should so blatantly insult our honor, or insinuate that not one of us deserves happiness."

"You realize that she has issues, right?" I objected. "My mother's been trying to help her through them. It's going to be bad enough once Jane's little surprise arrives on the front door, or hell, even the backyard if she's pulled some rather bizarre strings."

"Backyard?" Haguro asked.

"Railroad line runs past there, probably sees much higher traffic these days."

"I was told that was how they were being shipped, actually," Myoukou said.

I froze. The poor bastards tasked with delivering what was undoubtedly priority cargo were in for a _bad_ time. 

[=]

Holding the door open, a creature many would call a smaller, more adorable version of Haruna waved the others out. Food and playing cards could only get them so far, especially with the trip slower than anticipated.

The rush of the wind, and the grinding of steel on steel filled the air, while the skies above were painted brilliant shades of orange, gold, and red. It was a shame her full-size counterpart wasn't here to appreciate it. A sudden rush of sound caught her attention, a quick line of silver with bright lights passing by in a split second. They were going so fast, and she couldn't help but wonder how Shimakaze was feeling.

"Au!" Cried the small destroyer, falling off the side of the box. Haruna could see Yuudachi and Shigure helping her up, before dashing out.

Their first view of the American sky, and it was beautiful. None of their counterparts could get this far inland without ill effects, but they were fine, even if they felt a little out of place. Their surroundings were completely dry, nothing but sand and mountains in the distance. The sight of it all gave them just a small inkling of just how _huge_ America was, and just how far off their destination lay.

"Haru…"

Somewhere in the distance, she could see the lights of some town, shining more brightly as the sun slowly dipped towards the horizon. Flashing red lights zipped by, alongside another train, loaded with shipping containers, bearing labels in English such as 'Hub Group' or 'CMA CGM.' Each was no doubt packed with food and other goods, to be loaded onto container ships and doggedly sent across a hostile sea towards a country on the constant brink of starvation.

The sheer number, each double-stacked, caused the jaws of every chibi to drop to the floor of the train car they rode. The stacks upon stacks of shipping containers, with all sorts of colors and markings, never seemed to end. Only small gaps between each train car offered them a glimpse of the land beyond, and the only thing that broke up the endless line was a pair of locomotives, perhaps marking a halfway point in the train. Even as fast as they travelled, the containers kept coming, until finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they saw clear land, and only a blinking red light receding into the distance.

"H-Haru…"

The others were silent, having borne witness to what several years ago was considered business as usual.

The group began their climb onto the top of the container, hoping to get a good vantage point for their trip. The tan-colored box of corrugated steel had been given refrigeration, no doubt because of their surroundings. The motor could be seen on the opposite end, humming away and keeping their temporary home cooled.

A few cars ahead, they could see the locomotives, three painted orange and black, and lights shining brightly from the cabs. Behind them were several cars loaded with damaged tanks, no doubt from previous battles with Abyssal ground forces. The train stretched even longer still, with what Haruna could make out as trucks, trailers, and more containers as they rounded a curve.

The details grew harder to make out, as the sun finally dipped below the western horizon, the once-vivid colors growing duller and darker with night setting in. The group sat down, taking a moment to appreciate the calm, in spite of the breeze kicked up. It was still amazing, though, especially as the stars finally began to shine. There was barely a light in their area, and it wasn't long before the clouds and countless stars of the Milky Way made their appearance.

The only humans on this train were too preoccupied to appreciate a sight like this. The horrors, and the bravery, seemed so _insignificant_. But it didn't mean that what was going on didn't matter at all. Their counterparts had a war to win, and they had a troubled soul to soothe.

They had a ways to go, but once they arrived, they would do their best. Anything less was unacceptable. 

[=]

Karen Hunter was awoken by the sound of her phone buzzing, sonar pings indicating that the call was from her son. Something must've happened if he was calling at this kind of hour.

"Hello?"

" _Mom?_ " James replied, his tone serious. " _Listen closely before you say anything else. Can you guarantee that this call will be private?_ "

"James, what's going on?" She asked.

" _We have a problem, and I want to make sure Cathy doesn't butt in._ "

"O-Okay, okay," Karen replied, before quietly sliding out of bed. She carefully made her way into the basement, shutting the door into the laundry room behind her. "What's going on?"

" _As I said, we have a problem. I was informed by Haguro about twenty minutes ago…_ " She heard her son gulp. " _…_ _that Admiral Richardson's daughter has caught wind of some sort of, and I quote, 'social media debacle' between Cathy and Myoukou, and has summoned and deployed a group of fairies over your way. They're being shipped by train, and will be arriving within the next thirty-six hours._ "

"Fairies?"

" _They're magical creatures, obviously,_ " he began explaining. "T _hey come with the shipgirls and perform the functions their crews did the better part of a century ago. I have no idea how some kid managed to summon ones of her own, but implications aside, once Cathy sees them, she's going to freak, and you and I both know that ends with her locked in a room at Saint Thomas._ "

Her eyes widened. "James—"

" _Mom, she's been denying this for god knows how long. The moment she's forced to confront reality head-on—_ "

"She was going to in about two weeks," Karen cut her son off. "One of your girlfriend's sisters, Nachi, invited us to come meet her down in New Orleans. We're taking Amtrak there." She heard him curse under his breath. "Language, James."

" _I'm a sailor, mom. I think I get to swear like one,_ " he pouted.

"Not when I'm around, James," Karen countered. Even he could get stubborn, though it only happened in situations like this, when something was on the line. "Anyway," she took a deep breath. "I've been doing everything I can to help Cathy, but the only way she's going to accept things at this rate is by facing it. Would you rather she face the enemy directly?"

" _That's what I'm trying to prevent, mom!_ " He shouted. " _She saw them on TV and it_ broke _her! What happens if a cruiser force penetrates the Saint Lawrence? What happens if gunboats sail up the Cuyahoga and right to our house? I've heard stories from the Marines who were on Woody Island. The things they say they saw, mom…_ "

" _Then let me do my job!_ " Hissed Karen. "I'm the one who has to deal with her every day. I'll let her know tomorrow, and I'll take it from there," she said.

"Let me know about what?" She heard Cathy ask behind her.

" _Motherfucker!_ " James shouted.

"Mom? The _hell's_ going on!?"

Karen took a deep breath, before hanging up. She needed time, something Cathy was denying her. "Go back to bed. I'll explain tomorrow."

"Is Jimmy finally marrying that bitch?"

" _Catherine Amanda Hunter!_ " She shouted. "First off, this ain't about yer brother bein' in love with that woman! Second off, we're gettin' a present from someone high up in the Navy, and it's meant fer yew!"

Dammit, her accent was slipping.

"For _me_?" Cathy asked, her jaw on the floor. "Why in God's name is the Navy sending stuff for _me_?"

Karen quickly composed herself, taking deep breaths. That accent reminded her too much of those bad times… "First off, what in the _hell_ did you say to Myoukou!?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because apparently, word spread to an Admiral, and while I have no idea what the _frak_ he thinks about this, his daughter decided to take things into her own hands," Karen explained.

"The _hell_ is she _sending_!?" Cathy asked, confused.

"Apparently," Karen couldn't help but laugh. "She's sending fairies."

"So, _dolls_ , then. Why are you making such a big _deal_ about this!?" She asked, raising her arms.

"Because those aren't dolls," Karen began, exasperated. "They're some kind of… thing."

She heard Cathy huff. "Magic doesn't exist, mom," her daughter countered. "How many times do I have to say it? This isn't some war against ghost ships, this is _World War Three_!"

"What if they gave a war, and nobody showed up?" Karen asked. "The Russians have holed up. The Chinese are _gone_ , from what I hear. I might not know too much about this country's military, but I know that they wouldn't make an entire country _vanish._ "

"Gee, maybe it's because nukes are a thing!?"

"The news said _nothing_ about nukes. And don't go on about cover-ups," Karen continued. "Your brother is out there trying to make _goddamn sure_ we don't get blown up, and needs us more than ever—"

" _We_ need him, Mom!" Cathy cut her off. "He fucking _abandoned_ us when we needed him to step the f-fuck up, and s-say enough is enough!" She began sobbing, before sinking to her knees. "That stupid _movie_ they p-played as a _news story…_ "

"There was _nothing_ he could do, Cathy," Karen huffed. "I was the one who had to handle it. I was the only one who could. He shouldn't be the one to deal with my insane mother and idiot brothers."

"A-And lemme guess? I-I'm insane, too?" Cathy continued sobbing.

Karen leaned back against the wall. Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. "You're someone who's stressed—"

"You think!?"

Another low sigh escaped her. There was no winning this. "Just go to bed. We'll deal with this tomorrow." 

[=]

 _Everything is bright, surreally so, but she is okay with it. Everyone is happy. Everyone is together. Her brother is assembling models with their father, and their mother is on a lounge chair, flipping through a book. And amidst all of it, her friends are there, too. It all seems fine, normal, even._

 _She feels warmth, comfort, and joy because of it. Everyone is together. Everyone is safe. She sees both sides of her family, hugging, talking, and eating. She smiles, for she knows that this is right, the way things are supposed to be._

 _"Is everything, like, alright, poi?"_

 _The voice takes her focus away. A girl whose hair sports strange mats, and a voice almost like a squeaky toy. She scratches her head, before turning around. Her brother is no longer making models with their dad. He's with that bitch, the one with the wavy brown hair and the headband. Another, with short, raven-black hair stands behind them, an almost nervous look on her face. Another one of the liars. Ashigara and Haguro._

 _Her friends are gone, replaced by more of the liars, the actors, the cosplayers. Her dad's side of the family is replaced by a man in a Navy uniform and that woman. The one who called herself Mutsu. She sees a young girl chasing a pair of even younger ones around, and they seem happy, but it's all part of the lie._

 _Her mother's is replaced by an office lady and some woman with an incredibly long side ponytail, and others. A blonde with a sunny attitude. A brunette dressed like a traffic cone. A dozen girls in sailor schoolgirl outfits._

 _"Come on, poi!"_

 _Before she can object, she is dragged along, the young girl stronger than she looks. All of it screams wrong, lies, damnation. Others dressed like the blonde sit beyond the railroad tracks at the river, tended to by someone she thinks is an angel at first, until she sees that halo turn into a headband, and the robes into a miko dress._

 _Kongou. The queen of the freaks. A woman who creepily lusts after an Admiral, and who is one step away from becoming the Joker. Cathy knows the stories, and knows the woman's personality is unlikely to be part of that act, merely a convenience. Her 'sisters' were allegedly just as nuts, too._

 _"Normally I don't care for iced tea, deesu, but on a hot day like this, I think we can all use some!"_

 _She is surrounded by them, those who tear those closest to her away. She sees one stand over her father's grave, somehow on the other side of the river. Another embraces her mother. Ashigara leads Jimmy back inside._

 _"No…"_

 _"Is something wrong, deesu?"_

 _"Everything."_

 _"It's okay, poi!"_

 _"No it isn't!"_

 _"Please, just join us."_

 _"I won't!"_

 _"We want to help you."_

 _"No!"_

 _She feels them surround her, and she feels herself encased in steel, no doubt her casket. They speak more lies, and yet why do they not taunt her? Why do they act so friendly? She fights back. She knows that friendly is not always good. But they stand firm, and she feels her bones break as she punches and kicks, desperate to flee—_

Cathy awoke with a start, unsure just what she bore witness to. She was surrounded, forced into the madness that had gripped everyone. Her racing heart, her heaving chest, all of it once again was taking forever to calm down.

She couldn't go outside, not with half a foot of snow still on the ground. Even under her blankets, she could still faintly feel the cold from outside.

That dream of hers… all of those women…

She was being dragged into their world, and there wasn't a damned thing she could do. She didn't _want_ to be caught up in their messes. She didn't want to wake up next to some woman who'd keep her in an unbreakable grip. She didn't want to be part of some _harem_.

And so she silently wept, for this was the beginning of the end. 

[=]

 _On the Home Front (Part 4)_

 _Even with countless merchant vessels sunk and much of the Navy having followed, America hasn't allowed itself to take things lying down. The economy may be in a rough state, but recovery isn't impossible. In between emergency naval budget expansions, Congress was able to pass bills expanding and overhauling the American rail networks, keeping thousands employed as new lines are constructed and ones in desperate need of repair are finally tended to. In British Columbia, efforts to construct a paved highway and two-track rail line to Anchorage and Fairbanks are underway, in spite of the exceptionally difficult terrain. The Alaska Railroad has also been ordered to have a double-tracked line wherever possible, but shipping the steel, ballast, and construction equipment is difficult in the face of Abyssal raids. Most people figure they'll only achieve their goal once the lines connecting them to Canada are finished and what's needed shipped up._

 _In spite of it all, Amtrak was unable to get the funding for its NEC projects, the money instead going towards a dedicated freight line. However, in the wake of the Invasion of Hawaii, Amtrak has found itself incorporated into evacuation plan proposals for New York, Boston, Miami, Washington, Seattle, and Los Angeles. Of course, the question is of how to keep the trains from being bombed, with answers ranging from "Let the Air Force cover them" to attaching modified flatcars with Phalanx mounts or 25mm Bushmasters._

 _Shipping companies, needless to say, have taken a hit, with many of their workers dead and much of their assets beneath several kilometers of water. Several straight-up went bankrupt, while all Chinese firms vanished with their country. Their containers and remaining ships in the US were seized under Eminent Domain, cleared out, and promptly stuffed with food, medical supplies, and other critical materials for the convoys. Amazon, however, has managed to somehow remain afloat, even with the high risk to any products they ship in from overseas._

 _On Cathy (Pt 2):_

 _Cathy is desperate to keep her grip on reality as she sees it. Even if she sees a picture of a shipgirl in action, she refuses to admit that she sees a full-size warship and a woman. She thinks that she lost her mind in a different way, that her reality became fragmented, when the truth couldn't be far different._


	76. An Officer and His Dogs 4

Omake: An Officer and his Dogs part 4

[=]

Lieutenant William Corgi awoke in a rather annoyed mood; his otherwise pleasant dream had been ruined by the sudden appearance of a certain orange-clad idol right before things had gotten very interesting.

"Damn traffic cone invading my dreams. Letting Lisa jam out to her albums last night was a bad call on my part." William muttered as he glanced at his clock and noticed the time was 0347. He had woken up early, _again._ The PT Corgi that was at the foot of his bed awoke to his muttering and tilted its head to one side before crawling up besides the Lt.

William sighed and scratched the top of the PT boat's head; the dog gave a sleepy yawn and leaned into his touch.

"I'm sorry girl, did I wake ya?" He said to the dog apologetically, who then simply pushed its snout against his hand twice to tell him no. And he knew the dog was telling him no, even if he couldn't exactly explain how.

"At least today the new transfers to the unit will arrive. Y'all don't give them too much trouble now, okay?" William said softly to the PT boat before pulling the blanket aside just enough to get out of bed. He shuffled over to his quarter's personal bathroom to shower and freshen up for the day, leaving a trail of removed clothes on his way to the shower.

After he was done washing, he'd take a final cold rinse to help keep him awake long enough to get some Coffee. And he did desperately need some Coffee after last night.

After drying off from his shower and getting dressed for the day, William took the time to put away his night sleepwear and used towel in their appropriate hampers before he made his bed to regulation standard. Once all that was taken care of, the Lieutenant exited his quarters and walked down the hall that led into the main room of the PT Barracks. With the PT Corgi that had watched over him during the night right behind him the entire time.

William reached the Coffee machine and set a new pot to brew. By the time Jim exited his quarters a few minutes later, the pot had finished brewing and William had already poured out two cups. The Lieutenant handed the Gunnery Sergeant one of the mugs and kept the other for himself.

William noticed that his friend had bags around his eyes and general grumpy air around him.

"Lemme guess, Traffic cone invaded your dreams too huh?" William said as he took a long sip of the black brew. From the grumbled reply Jim gave him before downing a quarter of the mug's contents in one go, William would take that as a solid yes.

"I had almost forgotten how catchy and _annoying_ that idol's songs could get." Jim said as he drank down another quarter of his coffee and felt the life return to him.

"Yeah her songs can be annoying as fuck at times but I have to admit when she doesn't do those damn high-pitched and high-intensity songs, her singing is really good." William countered before taking another sip of his coffee. The PT Boats were all waking up now, no doubt stirred to wakefulness by the smell of Coffee.

"Yeah you got a point there; I loved the Christmas album she released last year." Jim said as he finished off the rest of his coffee before handing William the now empty mug. William just gave a hum of agreement as he finished the last of his coffee before he washed the mugs as Jim went to wake everyone else up.

William sighed as he went to make a quick, simple breakfast of spam and eggs for everyone. They had quite a bit of work to do today; introducing the new guys to the unit would be a task and a half itself. However they had to take care of changing the patrol rotations first before anything else.

[=]

It was an about an hour and a half later, after the day patrol was topped off and sortied and the returning night rotation had returned and indulged in their required gluttony, that William was able to sit down at his desk and do some needed paperwork. It never seemed to end no matter how quickly he filled out the forms; it was something that annoyed him to no end.

He heard a knock on his door, a familiar three-note knock that only one person he knew made. "Enter." Corgi said as he read a form requesting some of the PT Corgis and one member of his Staff to part take in a Navy PR event scheduled for the New Year.

Gunnery Sergeant Clayton entered the room and handed Lieutenant Corgi a small stack of papers. "Some medical reports from Lisa, it seems like part of night squadron 2 got injured on their way back to base." Clayton spoke with a rather severe tone; Corgi was flabbergasted at what he heard. He hadn't even noticed anything wrong with the dogs of squadron 2 when they came in from patrol.

"How the hell did they get hurt?" William asked before he looked at the paper and did a double take at what he saw.

"Are you fucking kidding me? They collided with a pair of Ocean Sunfish? How the hell does that happen...wait since when do Sunfish horizontally bask this early in the day?" William asked as he glanced out the window, it was barely even nautical twilight yet, let alone sunrise. _'So why would two of those fish be on its side on the surface before the sun was even up?'_ He pondered to himself briefly before sighing again. He just couldn't catch a break could he? More things to ponder, more things to check out to see if there was a pattern to be found.

He had learned the hard way once, and just once, to never dismiss anything, no matter how random it seemed during times like this. However, right now he had a more pressing concern and that was the health of the injured dogs. The health of _his_ dogs. He knew that if he didn't try and stop em, they'd attempt to sortie before they had completely healed. A persistent trait carried over from the crews of their original lives as mere boats.

"Are they going to be completely healed before tonight's patrol or I'm gonna have to split squadrons 3 and 4 to cover the gap left by squadron 2's injured till they're fully healed?" William asked Jim, who simply nodded.

"Lisa said that she had their noses and hind legs in splints and they're a taking a soak in the repair docks right now and they'll be good as new by tonight. Hell she said that they'll probably be out before its lunch time." Jim said to William, who breathed a sigh of relief at the news. If Lisa said something like that, he knew that it was the truth.

Ellen really did work miracles with the dogs whenever they got injured. Her skills were a godsend in lieu of a proper repair ship and because of that, William was willing to put up with Lisa's more...eccentric habits. Which have caused him more than a fair number of headaches in the past.

From the corner of his eye, William saw Clayton fish out his phone and check his messages. "William I just got word from my friend that's running the transports from MYS. Those Ensigns we're getting, their plane just landed at the airport, it won't be long before they get here. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops if Traffic is bad after they get their bags." The Gunnery Sergeant said as he put the phone away. The Lieutenant had a small smile crack across his face as he opened up a desk drawer and pulled out two dossier folders.

"Gunny Sergeant Clayton, inform every one of the news and have them assembled at the briefing table after the ensigns get here and put their bags away. Pull the extra chairs out of the storage room and make sure everything is in order. I'll be outside waiting for them." William said as he looked at the paperwork for New Year's PR event, he figured he could put it off, if only just for a little bit. To make certain that among other things the new ensigns knew how the unit ran.

Besides, William had always personally greeted newcomers to the unit, and he wasn't about to skip what had become the unit's tradition.

[=]

Ensigns Mitchel Crawford and Matilda Jones struggled to shake the last dregs of sleepiness from their minds. The two and a half hour plane ride from Maryland they just got off of didn't really give them a chance to get any rest. They knew their deployment orders would entail them getting up early and flying out well before dawn.

However knowing that still hadn't prepared them for the reality of it, not completely anyways. Though on the other hand neither of them had really slept well during the night, before they had to get up and depart for the Airport along with a sizable number of their fellow classmates.

Maybe two of their fellow classmates had gotten on their flight but they were being deployed to elsewhere and therefore they'd part from them after arrival. Most of the rest of their class were flying out west and a small number of their classmates were left behind in Maryland due to their deployment orders. It took almost ten minutes for Matilda and Mitchel to get off the plane and get down to the baggage claim area to get their luggage.

Mitchel sighed with impatience as he waited for the luggage return carousel to start spitting out everyone's luggage. Matilda was just a few feet off to his left, chatting with a civilian. He didn't fault her for talking with civilians, many folks were confused, scared, or for some; in complete denial of how the world was now. Having the chance to speak with Navy personnel, or really anyone from the Military went a long way to help people understand what was going on and maybe assure their fears.

Before Mitchel could ponder further on it, a loud buzzing alarm alerted everyone around the baggage return that their luggage had arrived. Sure enough in a few moments the first large bags and suitcases started making their rounds on the track. Mitchel believed it was good fortune on he and Matilda's part that their luggage was among the first to come out. He grabbed both his and Matilda's bags and pulled them off the track. Matilda had noticed his movement and was at his side by the time he had turned to tell her that he got their bags.

"Wow Mitchel, we got lucky with baggage return didn't we?" Matilda said in a rather upbeat manner as Mitchel handed her bag before they started making their way to the exit of the baggage claim area.

"Yeah we did, didn't we?" Mitchel said before his eyes caught sight of a man, a marine standing near the exit of the building. He held a sign that had their names on it, so the Ensigns both figured that someone from the base was already here to pick them up. Mitchel hadn't expected that, and a brief glance to Matilda told him that she hadn't expected it either.

"Are you Ensigns Matilda Jones and Mitchel Crawford?" The man asked them over the din of the Airport. Even this early in the morning, it was still fairly noisy.

"Yes we are."  
"Good. Follow me; there's a truck waiting out on the loading curb for you two." The marine said before he led them out of the terminal building. Waiting there on the curb for them was a M1109, a scout variant given the utter lack of weapons the vehicle had. The driver was sitting behind the wheel drinking out of a to-go cup and messing about with his phone before he noticed the return of his fellow marine with the Ensigns in tow.

Matilda had to bite back giggles and Mitchel had to subdue chuckles when they saw the driver almost dropped his coffee cup into his lap to _attempt_ to look like he wasn't just screwing around on the phone till now and got the Humvee started.

As Mitchel and Matilda placed their bags in the vehicle before getting in themselves, they heard a few choice words the one marine said to the driver. Though they couldn't quite catch what was exactly said because of noise of the airport even at this early hour, and the rumble of the Humvee's engine.

Once they were settled in the truck and underway, the marine that had greeted them spoke up. "So you two are going to Dog Squad huh? Boy did you two end up in an oddball unit." The man said as the driver weaved the Humvee through traffic.

"Oddball unit?" Matilda said with a measure of confusion.

"Yeah, a mix-and-match of Navy and Marine personnel that deals with the PT Corgis here in New Orleans. The Lt's XO is a Marine Gunnery Sergeant, despite the fact there's a Navy W-5 in the unit." The marine explained as they stopped at a red light. The driver took this moment to jump in on the conversation.

"Yeah, like the only stranger Job you could get in the Navy is dealing with ship girls directly on a regular basis. Though that doesn't mean you won't run into em while doing stuff for Dog Squad. Some of them girls just like either messing with the corgis, spoilin em rotten, or snatching em away for snuggles or some other kind of shenanigan; much to the Lt's continual misery." The drive said with a matter-of-fact tone.

"So are you two part of this, 'Dog Squad' and is that why you were waiting for us at the Airport?" Mitchel asked the marines, who looked at one another for a second before breaking out in laughter just as the light turned green and they got moving again.

"No Sir, we ain't from dog squad. We don't have the dog handling qualifications or experience to get into that unit. We just got asked by the unit's XO to pick up you two from the airport while they got the daytime patrols ready for sortie and fed the returning night patrols." The marine that had greeted said as they passed through the dimmer lit areas of the city. The only strong light present was from the Humvee's headlights since sunrise was still roughly an hour or so away, though the horizon was clearly visible now.

A few minutes of silence passed before Mitchel broke it with a question directed at the marines. "Marines, I've heard a few rumors about Lieutenant Corgi from some of the old salts at the Naval Academy. Mainly that Corgi was the hard-ass of hard-asses when it came to adhering to rules and regulations when he and his class was going through the Academy. Is he still like that?" Mitchel spoke with a degree of concern in his voice.

"Well, yes and no." The marine riding shotgun bluntly replied.

"What do you mean yes and no?" Matilda asked the marines before Mitchel had the chance to say it himself.

"No as far as he doesn't follow _everything_ so strictly now. In fact, depending on circumstances he could let ya get away with quite a bit. Though then again, I suppose that's just the part and parcel of life you get when it comes to dealing with well, anything and _everything_ that involves MSSB." The marine said, and the ensigns grimaced slightly. Their class on ship girls and the... antics they could get up to as well as the bottomless mystery that was MSSB was _woefully_ ad-hock. Though the Ensigns didn't ponder on just how unprepared they really were for dealing with all things MSSB related because the driver spoke up next to finish the second half of what the passenger was saying.

"Yes in the fact that the rules he does strictly enforce are mainly the ones he came up with for dealing with the management and internal workings of Dog Squad... Ugh I don't really remember everything Clayton said and I ain't gonna take guesses on the details, so here's the short of it. You fuck up how Lieutenant Corgi runs his unit or if he learns that you've mistreated and/or neglected the PT Corgis at any point. He _will_ verbally tear ya a new one with the wrathfulness of the Old Testament." The driver said as he made the turn that was the final approach to the main entrance to the naval base.

"Yeah LTJG Jackson found that out second one the hard way…Okay, he _was_ a dumbass for grabbing an angry blimp cat when it was in a scuffle with one of the PT Corgis. But when Lieutenant Corgi came up back here from Port Fourchon to fill in for the LTJG while a replacement was being looked for, Corgi discovered that Jackson had been almost completely negligent with his duties and responsibilities on managing the PT Boats. Lemme tell ya, you could hear the LT chew out Jackson _well_ the hell away from the window of the infirmary room the LTJG was recovering in." The marine riding shotgun said with a tad bit of nervousness in his voice.

"So does that mean Lieutenant Corgi has a short temper?" Mitchel asked with a strong hint of dread. He had enough experiences dealing with people who short tempers to last him several lifetimes, he really didn't want to be deal with another person like that who was also his new CO.

"No, He really doesn't." Both marines said at once, before they glanced at one another and shared a short laugh. Though the marine's laughter died down as the Humvee came up to the Naval base's entrance. It was another minute before the sentries waved them through and one of them elaborated further.

"It's actually pretty damn hard to make the Lieutenant lose his temper most of the time. I've heard from the marines that work under him, he might be grouchy most of the time but he never snaps at anyone unless they've done something to completely deserve it." The marine riding upfront said honest and frankly to the two Ensigns.

Mitchel breathed a sigh of relief at the news, and glance over to Matilda showed that she looked considerably less nervous. Though they were pulled from their thoughts before they had a chance to talk to one another by the marine riding up front clapping his hands hard twice; this drew their attention to the building that the marine was pointing at. However, it was the driver who spoke up.

"Alright, you see that building up ahead. That's the PT Boat Barracks; just about all the Marines on base though call it 'Fort Bork'. Though, uh, you might not wanna call it that around Lieutenant Corgi because uh, yeah he kinda gets _annoyed_ by all the nicknames people have given him or his unit or the buildings they occupy. Hell you two will probably know at least two dozen of those nicknames by the end of today." Their driver informed them as they pulled up to where the paved road ended and a concrete walkway began that led to the barracks building.

Someone was already outside waiting for them. The two marines that chatted with them on the ride got oddly silent all of a sudden and that concerned both Ensigns greatly. It only took a few moments for them to realize that it had to that was someone from 'Dog Squad' waiting for them. Ensigns Matilda Jones and Mitchel Crawford wanted to make a good first impression on whomever it was waiting for them. So they got their bags and got out of the Humvee.

Ensigns Matilda Jones and Mitchel Crawford looked at one another briefly before their gazes shifted back to the man that was waiting for them just outside the PT Boat barracks. As what their Marine driver had informed them that the building in front of them was called.

The man waiting for them had his back facing them, arms folded behind his back in parade rest. This man was obviously Navy like them given his uniform. But to both of their eyes, he seemed like he was tense about something, even the tight cut dusty brown hair the man had mostly concealed by his cover seemed to have been raised in tension. It honestly unnerved the both of them.

Then man turned around with a single fluid motion as they left the Humvee behind and came several steps closer to him.

The two Ensigns snapped to attention the moment they saw the Lieutenant Bars on the man's collar and realized that this was their CO, Lieutenant William Corgi. Matilda and Mitchel were more than a tad bit frightened as his gaze swept over them. With the light of the early dawn sun partially lighting his eyes, it gave the Lieutenant's Hazel-Green eyes a yellow-gold hue to them along with a rather terrifying intensity. It was as if though he was looking down into the very depths of their beings with those eyes, searching for some fundamental fault they possessed.

After a brief few seconds of silent staring, the Lieutenant returned their salutes and spoke up. "At ease sailors. I take it that you're Ensign Matilda Jones and Ensign Mitchel Crawford." The Lieutenant asked them, though his expression said that he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from them.

"Sir, Yes Sir!" They both responded at once before they briefly glanced at each other. The rather serious expression the Lieutenant had faltered slightly as a faint smile cracked across his lips.

"Good. Take your things inside and find yourself an empty room to claim, there's plenty of unused rooms to spare. After that, report back to the General assembly table in the main room to get briefed on what to expect in this unit and introduce the both of you to the people you'll be working with from now on." The Lieutenant said before he thought for a moment and added one more thing

"Ah. Pardon me, I almost forgot to say this. Welcome to the United States Navy's 5th Patrol Torpedo Boat Support Unit or 'Dog Squad' as other members of the Navy colloquially call this unit." He spoke the last part in a far more relaxed tone than he has been using prior.

As they entered through the front door the two ensigns were taken aback at how different the building was on the inside compared to the outside. It hardly looked like what they were used to given that there was a small open kitchen just off to their right. A long table was positioned just outside of it and by the coffee machine. To their left was what looked like a decently sized entertainment area that had several couches, coffee tables & end tables, plus two TVs mounted on the wall.

On the other end of the room there were dozens upon dozens of dog beds neatly lined up on the floor that formed a channel leading to a hallway. The Ensigns walked through the main room, past the PT boats that either played in the open space between the entertainment and sleeping areas or were napping in their beds. It didn't take them long to see that each door along the hallway was someone's quarters, what surprised them was that it looked like everyone here had their own quarters.

Soon the two ensigns found two rooms that were unclaimed and got settled in.

[=]

The two Ensigns thought for sure they hadn't taken _that_ long to unpack and put their things in order. However when they came out of their respective quarters and walked back out into the main room, things were very different compared to when they first came through.

Every dog that was sleeping was now awake and every dog that had been playing had stopped. All the dogs were gathered off to the side of the long table that was adjacent to the open kitchen and they were looking at them. Forty pairs of beady eyes followed their every movement across the room with the fluidity of a well-oiled gun mount. That alone was unnerving enough for Mitchel and Matilda but it was what was waiting for them at the table that unnerved them even further.

At one end of the table sat the Lieutenant and one very stern looking Gunnery Sergeant. Behind them were four marines and two Navy personnel standing at parade rest. All the chairs were pushed in at the table save for the two that were directly across from Lieutenant. The Lieutenant gestured for them to have a seat and they quickly sat down at the table.

Matilda briefly glanced over to the dogs and saw that all but one of them had their eyes squarely focused on Mitchel and her. The odd one out had its eyes focused on the Lieutenant. She felt that the dogs were sizing her and Mitchel up; that didn't help make her feel any more comfortable. In fact, it made her more uncomfortable than she was already. Her eyes darted back to the Lieutenant when she heard him cough.

"I won't beat around the bush here, I'm damn glad that I've got the both of you for my Staff. This unit's been understaffed since its inception but now it's a lot less so with the two of you aboard." The Lieutenant said as the marine sitting next to him handed him a few folders. He opened one of them and flipped a page before his eyes looked up and locked onto Matilda's.

"Ensign Matilda Jones, your file here says that before you enrolled in the Naval Academy, you were a therapy dog trainer for four years. Is this correct?" Lieutenant Corgi asked with a level voice.

"Sir, Yes sir!" Matilda said on reflex, which caused both the marine and the Lieutenant to blink twice before they started chuckling. Much to Matilda's confusion and to some degree, indignation; however the chuckles died soon after they had begun.

"No need to for the strict formalities here Ensign unless otherwise called for, or if you're outside the PT boat Barracks. However when either of you are here, you can just call me William." The Lieutenant said not just to Matilda, but to Mitchel as well. William's gaze then moved to Mitchel as he opened the second folder and looked at its contents.

"Ensign Mitchel Crawford, your file here says that before you enrolled in the Naval academy you spent three years as a K-9 Handler. Is this correct?" William said while closing the folder, looking rather intently at Mitchel.

Mitchel to his credit didn't flinch at William's change of posture, nor from the intensity his gaze held. "Yes Si-yes William." Mitchel was glad he was able to catch himself from being too formal when his CO had just asked him not to. A small smile graced William's face.

"That's damn good to hear. With you two's help I'm certain the PT Corgis can be a hella lot more flexible when they're not in their rigging." William said with plain relief in his voice. He was glad to get two people with their skill sets as part of his unit. He'd made a promise to the dogs that he'd do his damn best to make sure they wouldn't be abandoned or discarded by the Navy when this war was eventually won.

"Alright, now with that out of the way let me introduce you to the people you're going to be working with from now on and a few things you should know about them right off the bat. Staring off with the marine sitting next to me, Gunnery Sergeant Jim Clayton, my XO and the man who handles most of the day to day logistics of the unit." William paused for a moment to let the information sink in before continuing.

"You need something specific from supply, he'll help you get it. No matter what it is." William said, whilst the Gunnery Sergeant nodded before speaking up.

"Trust me; don't be afraid to come to me with a strange request. I get those plenty of times from everyone else."

Matilda and Mitchel listened with rapt attention and followed the Lieutenant's hand as he pointed to one of the two naval personnel standing behind him, and the furthest person on the left.

"Chief Warrant Officer 5 Mitchel Sanderson, He's the Chief Hull maintenance technician for the PT Corgis' rigging. Anything and everything barring the Radar Sets and Torpedoes he manages. Take it from me, he's as overworked as I am or even more so depending on the day of the week." William again paused and allowed the information to sink in before telling the Ensigns about the quirk with Sanderson.

"The last cup of coffee in the coffee pot is exclusively his. Take it without brewing a new pot at your own peril." From the way how the _Lieutenant_ sounded when he mentioned that, it scared both Ensigns.

"William come on, that only happened once!" Sanderson retorted with a small glare directed at William before he regarding the two Ensigns. "Anyways, I won't bite ya heads off if you take the last cup. Just set another pot to brew if you do, okay?"

The Ensigns nodded rapidly, in manner one could liken to a bobble head, which made the Gunnery Sergeant crack up a bit. William rolled his eyes at Jim's behavior and moved his hand to the next person.

"Petty Officer Third Class Simon Lake, before he got into this unit he was a torpedo technician on _USS Florida,_ SSGN-728. After _Florida_ got damaged eight months ago in a depth charge attack out by the Bahamas, Simon was transferred to this unit at my request." William took a small breath before continuing.

"He's generally assisting Sanderson or Sergeant Banks with their work when he's not busy with his own. However, Simon is the _only_ person currently authorized to work on the torpedoes and their mountings on the PT Corgis' rigging." From the deathly serious expression William had on his face when he mentioned the torpedoes, it didn't bode well for the Ensigns. The Ensigns noticed a few of the others grimace, which made them wonder if an incident had occurred in the past.

After a moment of heavy silence, William's expression changed as he spoke up again.

"Also, like almost all submariners he can bluff very well. Don't play poker with him unless you really know what you're doing." William said with an amused look on his face.

"Glad to be working with you two. Hopefully I and Sanderson's workloads can finally drop down a bit."

There was a small murmur of agreement from Sanderson before William moved his hand towards the first of the marines that were standing up.

"Sergeant David Banks, he's our electronics technician. More in point he's responsible for maintaining the radar sets on the PT Corgis' rigging for the dogs that have it. He's also responsible for installing sets on the dogs that are undergoing upgrades." William said with a small hint of pride in his voice.

"Just don't ask him for a drink from the canteen you see him carrying around, unless you want to try uncut torpedo juice." The lieutenant said with a bit of a grin on his face. The next marine in line shuffled a bit uncomfortably at the last part William had mentioned. The Ensigns were concerned and were about to ask for an explanation when Banks spoke up.

"I know what you two are about to say. No, I don't normally drink it while on duty. It's just really good at cleaning electrical contacts and it's damn easy to make in the amounts I use for my job." Banks spoke in a defensive manner. Silencing the questions both ensigns were about to ask. However it did tell them that somewhere in the area of the PT Boat Barracks there was a still.

William moved his hand to the next Marine in line, the one that had shifted uncomfortably on his feet when William mentioned the canteen Sergeant Banks carried with him.

"Lance Corporal Stanley Desmond, he's the unit's communication technician. His main job is to set the radio codes for the day, though he's also responsible for making sure every PT Corgi knows what the day's code and keys are." William paused to let it sink in before continuing.

"He is also responsible for informing the PT Corgis out on sortie of sudden weather developments. He'll route them around particularly bad thunderstorms or to the nearest port to shelter at until the storm passes." William seemed to hesitate for moment after he finished speaking; like there was something else he wanted to say but was unsure if he should say it.

Ultimately, he did say it.

"He's got...strange tastes in music." From the way how the Lieutenant didn't elaborate further on that point, it kinda worried both Ensigns.

Desmond huffed a bit and held an annoyed expression on his face. "My music tastes aren't as strange as everyone makes it out to be, I just like a very large variety of music, that's all."

Jim and William gave briefly looked back behind them to give Stanley a raised eyebrow. In fact, all but one of the personnel standing at parade rest turned and gave Desmond a raise eyebrow. Matilda felt more than she saw from the corner of her eye all of the PT Corgis that had been staring her and Mitchel down shift their gazes to the marine.

Matilda turned her head slightly and saw that the Corgis were giving Stanley what she figured was the Dog equivalent of the raised eyebrow look. Stanley squirmed slightly at the weight of the stares directed at him. After a moment of silence, everyone turned their attention back to the two Ensigns. William then pointed to the only other woman present in the room.

"Private First Class Lisa Ellen. She's the unit's Medic for the PT Corgis. She was a Veterinarian Surgeon up until about a year ago when she signed up for the Marines. While Sanderson, Lake, and Banks can put the Corgis equipment back together, Ellen can put the dogs themselves back together." William said with a healthy respect in his voice.

"She's the closest thing to a dedicated repair ship we've got for the PT Corgis and I've seen her work miracles in the past." The Ensigns could see Lisa's chest swell with pride at the praise.

"However..." William trailed off before he let his arm fall back to his side and his head hang down with a long, suffering sigh before looking back up.

"Ellen is a lewd woman. While she's almost never lewd first; however if you say something that _can_ be taken as an innuendo or otherwise lewd thing, She'll tease ya on it without mercy." Instead of being embarrassed at the remark, the Ensigns noticed Lisa swell even more with pride. There was a devilish grin on the Marine's face and the Ensigns couldn't help but shudder at it. William took a moment, as if though he was bracing himself for something before speaking up again.

"She's also scarily good at voice impersonations too." William said without further comment and a hint of dread in his voice. Crawford and Jones were about to ask him to elaborate further when Ellen spoke up.

"Now, now~ don't make the Lieutenant explain _everything._ That'd take the fun out of karaoke night~" Ellen said with a teasing lit to her voice, a voice which at the mention of Karaoke _disturbingly_ came close to the 'idol' voice used by a certain orange-clad light cruiser.

Matilda struggled to keep herself from cracking up upon hearing the rather impressive impersonation Ellen had just performed. Mitchel was more confused than anything else. William, Jim and everyone other than Stanley and the last marine in line however groaned upon hearing the voice.

William pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed out a suffering sigh before he raised his hand and pointed to the last marine standing at the other end of the line.

"And this is Private First Class Raphael Sandbar. Like you he's new to this unit but he has a general idea of managing the PT Corgis." William said in an encouraging manner to get the rather shy marine to speak up.

Sandbar straightened up a bit more than what the Ensigns thought was possible before speaking. "I look forward to working with the both of you to the best of my abilities."

William was going to inform the Ensigns and Sandbar about the unit's standing orders. However before he could say a word, his phone went off. "Now what?" William grumbled as he fished his phone out of his NWU jacket pocket and checked his texts.

William's eye twitched as he read the text. This didn't go unnoticed by Jim or anyone else. "What's the matter William?" The Gunnery Sergeant said with palpable concern. To which William gave a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose before he looked at his friend.

"The dogs we left with Sergeant First Class Stacker and his men back in Port Fourchon, they got attacked by a big gator, probably a 17 footer when they were out on the water doing maneuver drills." William spoke with vexation before continuing.

"The Dogs killed the gator and dragged it back to the barracks building. Made a mess that Stanley Kubrick would be proud of. Though the gator broke the leg of the PT Corgi it attacked."

Everyone else in the room blanched but not for the same reasons. William dialed a number and a few moments later the person on the other end picked up the line.

"This is Lieutenant Corgi, Sergeant First Class Stacker I'm giving the Phone to PFC Ellen now, she'll walk your medic through the steps for setting that dog's leg." William said while motioning for Ellen to take his phone.

Ellen took the phone and right away and began speaking with Stacker's medic. The change in how she acted shocked the two ensigns, if they hadn't seen the change themselves they wouldn't have believed that this was the same woman.

As Ellen headed back to her quarters, William gave a sigh. "Everyone else is released back to their duties. Pfc Sandbar, wait here for a moment. I have something to tell you and the Ensigns."

Everybody else save for the aforementioned departed to take care of other things. Sandbar, Jones and Crawford however remained with Corgi.

"Okay, Right now I can't take the time to properly inform the three of you of the various standing orders this unit has. So come by my office around 2100. I'll be able to give those standing orders then. Right now I've got other matters that need my attention." William said to the three. Sandbar nodded, though Matilda spoke up.

"And what are we supposed to do now sir?"

"Shadow the others and get a feel for things, help them out when and where you can. Beyond what Simon does, everyone else in the unit knows how to do just about every other job. There's a lot for you two to learn." William said as he got up from his chair before pushing it back in.

"As for me, I've got a whole new mess of paperwork to deal with. On top of the stuff I was putting off to greet you two and introduce you to everyone else. The three of you are released to your duties." William said before walking off towards his office.

Raphael stood there for a moment before he motioned for the Navy Ensigns to come with him. Jim did ask him to help out with brushing the PT Corgis fur and Raphael figured a couple extra hands would get the task done faster.

[=]

William opened the door to his office and sighed as he made his way to his desk and sat down. Looking at his desk, he swore the paperwork that was on it before had multiplied. Could it had been a sub sneaking in through the window to his office to drop off more? Probably, if his past luck was anything to go by.

"Some days, I just ain't payed enough for this crap. I swear, if those Corgis did that just because Stacker and his men are Army..." The Lieutenant muttered darkly to himself as he went about the seemingly unending task that was completing paperwork.

After a short while, Ellen entered his office to return his phone. He picked it up and started speaking with Stacker on how to clean up the mess, and keep ahead of the inquiries that were bound to follow.

It was only 0735 and William already felt somewhat tired. Today was going to be long day, he could just feel it in his bones.

[=]


	77. Wolfbait Chronicles 5

[=]

There had been an ambient tension in the air for the past day or so, as I waited for the package to arrive, and forever damn my sister. Somehow I managed to salvage the situation somewhat, though Cathy refused to believe me, as usual. But I could tell she was starting to crack, a certain look in her eye when she saw the Myoukou sisters behind me during a Skype call. She was starting to see them for what they _were_ , not what she _thought_ them to be.

It was a miracle that I had gotten those four off the warpath, knowing what would have happened if things went to hell. Distance, canal restrictions, and fresh, shallow water wouldn't have stopped them from sailing up to my backyard, and giving Cathy a piece of their mind. That didn't mean they were no longer miffed. Just less likely to reduce her to a smoldering crater.

I checked my phone's clock. About half past eight, local time. The sun's light was just starting to creep past the horizon back home.

"Jim?"

I turned around, and noticed Ashigara had seated herself next to me, wearing a bathrobe rather than her usual outfit. I couldn't bring myself to care whether or not that was the only thing between me and _her_ , even though she no doubt would have appreciated the attention.

My shoulders slumped, and a low, long sigh escaped me. My sister was about to go through what would no doubt be the worst moment of her life soon, and there wasn't a _damn_ thing I could do to help her. "What is it, Ashigara?"

I felt her arms wrap around me, trying to comfort me in a firm, warm embrace, but all I felt was that tightness when someone touches me, and it wasn't any kind of fun sensation, either. "I'm sorry for getting angry at your sister," she said quietly, leaning her head on my shoulder.

I set my phone down on the table, letting out a deep breath. "Yeah. I can understand why, though. You fought hard, and you continue to fight hard, so someone claiming it was all some sort of act…"

"Don't forget about my feelings about you," she added, before gently planting her lips on my cheek. I could feel my face heat up, and knew she had many more where that came from. "I was on the brink of giving up, of finally admitting defeat, when you gave me a chance."

I turned to face her, looking into those concerned brown orbs of hers. "And I don't regret it. I was hoping this could be resolved in a more quiet manner. She's the type who would crash our wedding, saying how I was falling into a trap. I don't want you to have to deal with that." I could make out the details in her eyes, noticing that they weren't quite brown. I saw hints of gold, showing that while she looked like an ordinary woman, she was _far_ from it. But beyond that, I could also see that _hunger_ , that would one day have to be sated.

"You're too considerate, you know that?" She asked, a small smile growing across her face. "We could have dealt with it."

"Except it wouldn't have ended there," I gently countered. Her determination was quite something, but here, a scalpel was needed, not an eight inch wide sledgehammer. "My grandma on my mom's side…" I sighed. "She didn't like who my mom had married. If it wasn't for the court orders filed against her, she would have driven to the cemetery and pissed on his grave. Cathy wouldn't have been that much different, I feel. I don't want that kind of drama in my life, especially considering what it cost my family."

Kind of hypocritical, considering what I kicked off.

A hum left her, before she tightened her embrace ever so slightly. It was like waiting for the end of the world to come and pass, knowing what would happen, and knowing there was nothing we could do by this point. "I'd try and give you something else to think about, but I doubt you're in the mood."

"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. Somehow." I laughed bitterly. She was definitely a _Hungry_ Wolf, alright. She had her prey right there, but she couldn't quite work up the appetite at the moment.

"Just give me your all, when you do so," she told me, before leaning in. I followed, and our lips met for but a second. I could feel my heartbeat pick up slightly, amidst the scent of cordite and soap.

She loosened her grip, before slowly shifting herself. I found myself following along, as we both laid ourselves on the couch. I could feel her weight press firmly against me, as we just held each other, my hand slowly running through her soft, wavy hair. It was barely a distraction, though. The only sounds in the room were our breaths, and a ticking clock.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Each little movement of the red hand marking each second that passed by, was slowly counting down towards that inevitable phone call, that the package had arrived, and Cathy finally broke. I didn't know how it would end, whether it'd be with a suicide attempt, with her shot by a nervous police officer, or her in one of the rooms at Saint Thomas, hopped up on sedatives and anti-psychotics.

While there was no risk of nukes being launched, it was still my little Doomsday Clock.

"What were things like, before you came here?" Ashigara asked, no doubt trying to distract me.

I took a deep breath. No point in leaving her hanging. "Between dad's death and now?" I let out a small groan, recalling those difficult moments. "Initially, it was chaos, obviously. It was a few months before things settled down, but they did. Mom found a job helping to manage one of the local stores, but we weren't in any danger of going under. Dad was smart enough to have a life insurance policy, though it was rough while that was sorted out. But things were starting to look up. High school was going well, my friends had my back, all of that good stuff. And then the War broke out."

"Did you join when you graduated?"

I nodded, even though I could barely remember when it began. Everything between then and when I went off to Great Lakes was a blur. "When I saw the news, I knew I couldn't sit idly by while millions died. There was a job that needed to be done. Mom was quick to see if I truly wanted to do this, and when she knew I was willing to fight, she wished me safety and godspeed. Cathy, on the other hand…"

"She didn't want you to leave."

Another nod, and a low, deep breath. "She thought I was ditching the family in its hour of need, unaware that there was nothing I could do. We were but a shadow, never to reclaim the stability we had long ago. 'Step up and solve this,' she kept telling me, as Mom fought with her side of the family. I don't think she would have been satisfied unless I burned their house down, or something. I was…" I rubbed my temple. "God, it feels like forever ago. I think I was fifteen or sixteen at the time."

I rubbed a tear away from my eye. It was a tragedy, soon to reach its climax. She could tell I wasn't quite comfortable talking about it, and yet it was the only thing on my mind, it seemed.

"Was there anything you liked to do?"

"I was into modelmaking. Legos, plastic kits, the works."

Her eyes lit up slightly. "What kind of kits?"

"A mish-mash, mostly planes and ships. I was working on a model of the Galactica when I shipped out, but my pride and joy was a model of an old cruiser."

I saw her eyes widen, realizing what was going on. "It…" she swallowed. "It was me, wasn't it?"

I nodded. "Technically the box said 'Myoukou-class,' but I decided it would be of you, not that I knew you were alive at the time, obviously," I told her. "I'm aware of the many flaws of Japanese warships, but I have a soft spot for their stories and looks. Sleek, aggressive…" I let out a small laugh. "…and _hungry_."

She couldn't help but laugh, slightly, before flicking me on the nose. "Bad puns won't be tolerated around here~," she playfully warned me.

"I blame dad," I replied. "But there was something about you and your sisters that I liked. Maybe it was because you four managed to fight until the end was upon you, or maybe it was something else."

"Maybe that connection was forming."

"I doubt I'm like Stewart, though. At least I didn't write a goddamn novel with you taking center stage." While Destiny was insanely popular, I knew it was ultimately a love letter to the ship its author loved so dearly. And now she was back and in his arms, or rather, if what I heard was true, he was in her bosom. Ashigara wasn't as… _extreme_ in her form as Sister Sara allegedly was, perhaps for the better. But that didn't mean she lacked any kind of strengths. Glancing down, I could see just a glimpse of those long, lean legs of hers.

"But did you write anything else~?" She slowly leaned in, a curious smirk spreading across her sharp features.

Goddamn, she was good. "A school report, actually," I said. "One of my history teachers was from a Navy family, and gave us a ship to research as a project. He put a bunch of names into a hat, and everyone was hoping for an easy one, like Bismarck or Enterprise." Neither of which were likely to return anytime soon, it seemed. "I found your name, of course. It was what kicked off my interest in your side of the story."

A low breath left her. "I guess there was a reason why I returned eager to find a husband," she giggled. "I still remember the first feeling, and it wasn't the air of the chamber, or the water lapping at me." She paused, looking me straight in the eye. "It was someone holding my hand."

I felt her hand brush down my arm, seeking mine. Ignoring the sensations I got from someone's skin against mine, I grabbed hold and gently squeezed. She squeezed back, not eager to let me go anytime soon.

"Sometimes I laid in bed at night, the air still and silent. Not a sound from the house, nor from outside. And I woke up because I could have sworn I felt someone nearby. Every time I just brushed it off as some dream, though now I can't help but wonder if there was something more."

"I can't remember anything of the sort, probably because I was too dead to notice." She let out a morbid giggle.

"Funnily enough, I never really believed in ghosts. The dead were supposed to be at rest, never to disturb anyone. But I did believe there was more to the world, as did my mother. Superstition had to be rooted in some kind of fact, after all. But my sister refused to believe any of it. She was all about science and rationality, until both broke down."

There was a brief pause, as we both took the time to think. "Will she get better?" Ashigara asked, a look of concern on her face.

"I don't know." I let out a lowly sigh.

"There was a look in her eye, when you had that Skype call," Ashigara began recalling. "I think she was afraid, and not just for you. She was afraid of us."

"I could tell she was starting to crack. There's a reason why I didn't just simply show her anyone going out on patrol in the harbor. If she saw it, if she knew that what I was telling her was the truth…"

I felt Ashigara squeeze my hand. "How bad would it be?"

I sighed, shaking my head. "I don't know. She's been dealing with this for years by this point. I have a feeling that she'll ironically need one of you to recover."

Her eyes widened, as she sat up slightly. "Who exactly?"

"I can think of only a handful who wouldn't overwhelm her. By the time all is said and done, my sister is going to be lost, alone, and scared. She needs a fire in the cold rain, someone who'll never let her go, but someone who won't _overwhelm_ her. Could you imagine her having someone like Nagato or Kongou as a glorified therapy dog?"

Ashigara laughed at the mental image, before slowly getting a grip on herself. "For a moment, I thought she'd have to fall in love with one of us."

"Oh, god," I groaned, pressing my hand against my face. "It'd be a _disaster_ if that were to happen."

"Is she not into women?"

I uncovered my face, before exhaling. "Not as far as I'm aware. But if one of you were to develop feelings for her, she'd be too terrified to say 'no.'"

Her smile turned to a frown. "She should be happy, you know."

"It was all because she couldn't keep her nose out of things," I mused, facing the ceiling. "She listened in on stuff she shouldn't have, tried to add to discussions she had no place in, and that's before just how goddamn _stubborn_ she is." I let out a sigh. "And now it's about to finally come crashing down."

I heard Ashigara let out a sigh of her own. "Not being able to do anything about this frustrates me."

"Same here."

I became the one to hold her more tightly, this time. Ashigara didn't seem to mind, but when she was protected by literal steel, there was no harm in it. "I'm sorry for bringing you into this."

I felt her nuzzle her head against mine. "You don't have to apologize, Jim. Just love me."

I knew she was right. Love seemed so hard to find back home, and yet it was within my embrace, in what should have been in an impossible form. Cathy constantly went on about how ships weren't people, and yet here one was, a 15,000 ton cruiser, who made a supermodel, even if she was exactly like what the airbrushed photos showed, look like a mountain hag. She was driven, passionate, and yet she was somehow understanding, perhaps after having been humbled by her long and arduous quest for love.

Silence once again fell upon the room, as our frustrated sighs turned into tired yawns. I could feel myself slowly drifting away, until I heard my phone buzz.

The two of us sat up, as I checked the ID. It was mom, and it was almost ten at night. "Hello?"

" _J-James,_ " Mom stuttered out. " _Y-Your sister's in the hospital right now. She r-right f-fainted after she o-opened up that package. She's alright, b-but they're plannin' to t-take her to Saint Thomas after she freaked out w-when she woke up._ "

"I understand, Mom," I replied, before squeezing my eyes shut. This was it. "Do you need me to try and return home?"

" _I-If you could, please,_ " she sobbed. " _If nawt, I-I understand._ "

"I'll see about that," I told her. "I love you, mom."

I didn't even hear her say goodbye before she hung up. I shut the phone off before slowly, shakily setting it on the table, as Ashigara tried to get my attention. "What happened?" She asked.

"The package arrived, and Cathy finally lost it," I grimly told her.

I felt Ashigara embrace me tightly, as tears began streaming down my cheeks. I felt so numb… "We'll get through this."

My arms slowly, perhaps unwittingly, wrapped around her, as I slowly wept, for my sister had now fallen off her rope.

[=]


	78. An Officer and His Dogs 5

An Officer and his Dogs Part 5

[=]

Ensign Matilda Jones was completely utterly exhausted from the day. Her legs felt like they were made of unset Jell-O and her arms didn't feel that far behind either. Still though, she was feeling ravenous and tonight was baked Ziti night at the base mess hall, so there was no way she was going to pass it up. Even if her arms protested every time she went to take another bite.

She was glad that Crawford and Sandbar had taken seats at the table she was at in the mess hall. Matilda knew they weren't the only members of 'Dog Squad' present in the mess hall either. She had heard more than she had seen Lisa talking with some other marines. Though the Ensign did see Sergeant Banks hovering around in Ellen's general direction, seemingly always keeping one eye on the PFC at all times.

Taking a moment to finish her current bite, Matilda looked over to Sandbar. "How the heck do you guys do this kind of stuff day and day out?" She asked curiously.

"The first couple days always suck, but after that you start getting used to it. Really speaking, the best advice I can give you and Mikey is to make sure you're drinking plenty of water. You'll need it for all the running you'll end up doing when the Corgis decide to start messing with you two." Sandbar said in a nonchalant manner as he finished off the last of his food.

A small clatter ranged out as Mitchel Crawford or 'Mikey' as the rest of the unit decided to nickname him, dropped his fork with an expression of mute horror on his face "Wait the dogs will start messing with us?"

"Yeah Mikey, from what the Gunny told me. They love to mess with new people. I guess I got out of that because my prior CO was LTJG Jackson." Sandbar said the last part rather quietly.

The two Ensigns winced; they've heard plenty about the prior person who was supposed to be managing the PT Boats of New Orleans. None of it was good. That wasn't to say that the LTJG was a bad sailor... but it became painfully clear that the man simply wasn't meant to handle _anything_ related to MSSB. Some people in the Navy simply _couldn't_ handle dealing with the stuff.

Ensign Crawford finished the last of what was on his plate before glancing over to PFC Sandbar with a curious stare "Sandbar, at lunch I overheard some junior officers talking the Lt. They said that the Lieutenant was...crazy, to put it lightly." Crawford said in a low whisper, not exactly wanting anyone else from the unit overhearing what he just said.

Sandbar and Jones Both had disbelief on their faces. "Well those officers never had to deal with ship dogs or ship girls then." Sandbar stated with a tad bit of venom in his voice.

"Yeah Raphael has a point, you honestly can't call someone crazy for working with them. I mean they're so strange that it'd be more of a surprise that someone _didn't_ pick up some quirks just to cope with it. Like, I never thought a small dog could have as much fur brushed off of them as a Saint Bernard until we helped you and the Gunnery Sergeant brush them earlier today." Matilda said with an even tone as she idly pointed to Sandbar with her fork.

"Now, I've heard from a couple marines that the Lt. was a class-one workaholic. The man's practically married to his job." Matilda continued before she finished off her soda before adding something else. "Honestly wouldn't surprise me if he married a ship girl."

Sandbar nodded a couple times as he thought on it. "Yeah I can believe that one. In the few Days I've known the Lieutenant, the man just doesn't seem to stop for anything. I don't know about that second one though. However I've heard that he might have a crush on one or two of em." Sandbar said before casually checking his wrist watch and doing a double take when he saw what time it was.

"Uh guys, we should cut the gossip and head back to barracks building, like uh, now. It's about 15 till 2100." The young marine said rather hurriedly as he picked up his tray to put it up. The two Ensigns followed close behind him.

As laid back and as forgiving as the Lt seemed to be, none of the three wanted to be late and test just how forgiving their commanding Officer really was. Especially the Ensigns, they didn't want to set a bad impression on their commanding officer.

[=]

William's brow was knitted together with deep thought as he stared at the various pins on the wall-mounted map. Each crimson pin on the map denoted the reported location of a sea mine that had been destroyed by the daytime PT Corgi patrols.

While normally it wasn't odd for him to see in reports the occasional mine or three be discovered and destroyed by the daytime patrols, two or three times every week. It was the sheer number that had been found and destroyed today alone that worried him a great deal.

Between the patrol routes ran by the PT Corgis stationed out of New Orleans and the patrol routes ran by the PT Corgis stationed out of Port Fourchon. More than 80 devices had been spotted and destroyed by the daytime patrols.

Gunnery Sergeant Clayton was still adding more pins to the map with one hand, as the other held a note pad with all the listed coordinates of the sea mines that were discovered and destroyed today. William heard the marine grumble soft swears each time he had to reposition a pin that was errantly placed. He wanted to help his friend with the tedious task. However Jim was insistent that he would do it himself. William knew better than to try arguing the point.

As he watched Jim push-in the last of the crimson pins firmly into the cork-board that the map was affixed to. William counted a final total of 86 devices that had been spotted and destroyed today. It was a worrying number to say the least.

The Gunnery Sergeant stepped back from the map to allow the Lieutenant to have an unobstructed view of the map. William could see that the majority of the pins were spread across a jagged corridor located barely 60 miles southeast off the coast of Port Eads; stretching about some 70 miles to the south. The majority of the pins were located in the general direction of New Orleans.

From the corner of his eye, the Lieutenant could see the marine furrow his brow and lightly chew his bottom lip for a moment. "I don't get it, where the hell are all of these mines coming from?" Jim said quietly, as though if speaking normally would have caused the answer to flee from his grasp.

William grunted a small agreement as he studied the map intently. He knew that submarine activity wasn't any higher than it was normally.

In fact, as he looked at his notepad. The Lieutenant saw that Abyssal Submarine activity around the Gulf region had actually gone down. Though slightly compared to three months ago, it was still down and thus it couldn't explain the mines.

William tapped his index finger against the notepad as his gaze unconsciously traveled from the wall map to the second of two models that, among other things, decorated his desk. A 1/72 scale model of an Elco PT Boat, PT-109. As he stared at the model, his mind drifted to the possibility that the mines could have been dropped by PT boats.

Clayton seemed to have come to the same conclusion he had arrived to for the marine spoke up first.

Clayton turned away from the map and met Corgi's eyes. "Maybe Abyssal fast attack boats are dropping these things off at night?"

Corgi silently admitted that the marine might be right. Fast attack craft could theoretically drop off the type of mines the PT Boats had been encountering during the day, at night and remain undetected. However the Lieutenant knew there was just one issue with that possible explanation.

"That's possible Jim, however there's no way fast attack boats would have the range to do it and come back to wherever they're based from. Even the German E-Boats don't have the range for a round trip."

"Normally that's true William. Unless however there is a tender or two that's going along with the fast attack boats, therefore extending their operational range significantly. Though then the question becomes; where the hell could this tender or tenders be home-ported at?"

William covered his mouth with his left hand, pondering the question Jim had raised and the point he raised. Once again he found his eyes drift from the map on the wall to his desk. This time, his eyes settled on the second model that adorned the office fixture and guarded the letters from home and family abroad.

A 1:535 scale model of _USS Wisconsin_. It was an old model that he had put together over a decade ago, a present from his late grandfather. William had left the model at home for the longest time before taking it with him when he took this position just a month past two years now.

William often found himself staring at the model whenever he felt doubt and uncertainty, or even when he was in deep thought about something. Silly as the notion was. He always felt a measure of reassurance and clarity come to him from staring at it.

Though after a few silent minutes of having his gaze drift between the model and the map, trying to divine an answer like how he heard some admirals were rumored to be able to do. Lieutenant William Corgi felt himself no closer to an answer to the question Clayton had forwarded.

Instead a different sort of realization came to the Lieutenant. While it wasn't something that'd directly lead them to where the possible fast attack craft tenders could be based at. However it could lead them to start looking in the right direction.

"Jim this is just a hunch, but what if we overlaid a map of the ocean currents and remarked where the mines were found? Maybe then we could narrow down the scope of the possible search area." William quietly said to Clayton with a spark of intuition as he reached down and pulled out a rolled-up large transparent map of the ocean currents from the bottom desk drawer.

It was a useful thing to keep on hand. William had learned long ago that planning with it allowed him to plot out patrol routes for the PT Corgis that reduced the amount of ocean current the ship dogs had to fight against.

Reducing the amount of fuel their aviation engines consumed hourly by allowing the Ocean currents themselves to help propel them along where possible; thus extending their rather short operational range as much as possible to cover as much coastline as possible from their home port.

Even if the gains from planning patrol routes with the Gulf currents in mind was small. Every bit counted; especially after Saratoga and Alaska had departed to help liberate Pearl Harbor. Thus thinning the available surface response the Gulf was able to call upon for defense and patrol.

The Gunnery Sergeant flashed a familiar and toothy if a bit lop-sided grin before joining William. The pair would spend the next ten minutes pulling out the all the pins. Jockeying the transparent Ocean currents map overtop the old pre-war satellite map of the Gulf Region & Caribbean. Before affixing it in place with some tape and then finally reinserting the red pins into their prior locations.

Stepping back away from the wall in near-unison when they had finished the tedious task, William heard Jim gasp with shock beside him. He couldn't blame his XO, the dispersion of the mines found and destroyed today. They matched rather closely to the Gulf Stream's many eddies and currents. More in particular, it eerily lined up with the extended loop of the main Gulf Current that reached Louisiana's bird foot delta.

William could also see that some of the discovered mines would have been on an eventual track to float through the Florida Straight and beyond. Had they not been discovered and destroyed when they had been.

"Bastards are mining the Gulf Stream." William hissed between gritted teeth with a low voice. His nostrils flared as he took a breath and turned to meet Clayton's eyes, before continuing with a certain fire in his eyes, the intense and unyielding gaze of hatred the Gunnery Sergeant knew _all_ too well.

"Even if they don't hit their intended targets here in the Gulf. Those floating mines could get carried off by the stream and impact shipping traffic from Florida to as far as Norfolk."

"William, are you sure the mines wouldn't just sink in the rougher Atlantic waters before they got past Georgia?"

"Clayton, I remember seeing the aftermath of just one of those mines striking a civilian freighter. I saw firsthand, what one of those… **_things_** did to a minesweeper a few months before _New Jersey_ returned to the fleet. And that was back when we were finding and safely destroying the damned things 20 times a day within our patrol sectors. Back before we figured out how to consistently summon the PT Corgis or _anyone else_ for that matter." William's jaw tensed as the pair of memories floated to the surface of his mind like oil from a sunken ship. After a moment he released the tension with a sigh and continued.

"If today's daytime PT Corgi patrols finding and destroying 86 of these goddamn sea mines is any indication… if this is something that's becoming the new norm… then how many of these accursed things are slipping by our current screens? Completely unnoticed till it's too late…" William quietly trailed off, his voice dying back to a ghost of a whisper.

William wasn't exactly sure how much of a threat the mines _could_ pose outside of the Gulf Region and the coasts of Florida. He did however know all too well how destructive those floating mines could be. He knew that it wouldn't take many mines managing to stay afloat long enough to reach the major shipping lanes on the East coast. To slow down shipping to a complete and utter snail's pace.

William also knew that resources and scarce surface assets would have to be rerouted and redirected to make sure the sea lanes were clear of any and all possible mine threat along the East coast. He knew that would stretch defensive lines around populated coastal areas more thinly than they already were.

The Lieutenant could only fathom what the impact on morale would be if this sea mine situation intensified even more. Or worse yet, it spread to areas far beyond the Gulf Region.

However it was at that moment that William's lifelong friend. Jim Clayton said something that took the oil spill of his prior worrying concerns, and dropped a lit flare into it.

"You think this could be the prelude to something big William?" Jim spoke with palpable concern in his voice as his worried eyes glanced from William to the map and then back to his friend.

Trying to guess what the enemy would do next was normally far above Jim Clayton's pay grade as a Gunnery Sergeant of the United States Marine Corps. Triply so considering that the enemy who's next move he was trying to make a guess on was a seaborne one.

However even he was left uneasy by the things he was seeing. Especially now that he and William had everything plotted down on the maps. Jim could only guess what William was thinking and feeling currently. However he knew from experience that his friend was on the knife's edge with stress.

William took a few seconds to calm and center his mind, before he met Jim's dark brown eyes with a steady stare.

"I don't know Jim. I don't know." William's voice was strained, like a steel cable with almost enough tension on it to snap.

However before William or Jim could ponder or discuss the developing situation any further, and before either of the two's mounting concerns could overwhelm them. There was a knock on the office door, which deflated the heavy atmosphere that had been building in the room almost instantly. Much to William and Jim's unspoken silent relief.

The Lieutenant did briefly wonder who it could have been at his Office door at this hour. At least, until he checked his watch and realized it was 2100.

The time he had told Pfc. Sandbar, Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford earlier today to come to his office by for them to be given the unit's standing orders. Since the incident at Port Fourchon involving a Gator, a few PT Corgis, the mess that Stacker and his men found in the PT Barracks during the morning had interrupted the time had he originally set aside for briefing them.

A soft, quiet chuckle slipped past William's lips as he went back to his desk. "Well at least Sandbar and them showed up on time, I gotta give the three of them credit for punctuality. Maybe even a reward for the new ensigns, Whatch ya think Gunny?" William whispered with small grin.

"Yeah I suppose we ought to give em credit for that. Perhaps have em get lighter duties for tomorrow. Especially the new Ensigns, they look like they need it badly."

"Yeah they do look like they need a bit of respite tomorrow doesn't it? Maybe I should have them help Ellen do the Corgis monthly physical checkups tomorrow."

"Sir with all due respect, that's being just plain unmerciful to them. Leaving the Ensign's at Ellen's complete mercy for half the day." Clayton spoke while feigning mock horror and trying his dammed best to not bust a gut laughing.

William himself was barely doing any better to keep a straight face. "Oh come now Clayton, at least when the three of them have received the unit's standing orders they won't be as easy pickings for Lisa… among other things." The grin William had and the rather upbeat mood of the room disappeared when he trailed off before speaking the last part.

Jim's rather upbeat mood fell faster than a lead brick in a tub at the mentioning. No matter how many times they had done this, there always was one standing order that made the entire affair of giving new unit members said standing orders a draining one.

The last standing order for the unit, the order of last resort for if the worst were to come. The one order _everyone_ in the unit didn't want to think about but was prepared to carry out if it ever came to seeing it followed through. William and Clayton knew that this order had to be the last one on the list given. Trying it any other way would cause the three new members to forget all the ones after it.

So the Gunnery Sergeant and Lieutenant would have to do their best to be upbeat and maybe humorous when giving out the preceding standing orders. Some of them were actually funny but they were there for good reason. Most of all, they knew they had to do their best to conceal their mounting dread when they got near to giving the last standing Order.

William, despite having written that last standing order himself, didn't like it. Not one bit at all. But until the last abyssal monster sank beneath the waves and the oily stain it left behind on the water's surface was purified by fire. This last standing order would remain in the unit's orders book. It had to.

"Enter." The Lieutenant spoke with a somewhat casual but tense and tired manner. The day's events had drained him quite a bit and soon this matter regarding the standing orders would drain him even more. As the door knob turned, he gave the Gunnery Sergeant a quick sideward glance and saw that his friend's face held a faintly grumpy tint on an otherwise blank expression.

William saw Jim stand off just to his left as the door to the office opened and the three people standing on the other side entered.

[=]

Pfc Sandbar, Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford walked into Lieutenant Corgi's office. The three of them were doing their best from showing any signs of nervousness. So far they were managing it pretty well.

Even though the three of them knew they weren't being reprimanded, entering their CO's office was still more than a little bit intimidating. More so when they realized the unit's XO was also in the office, just standing off to and slightly behind the Lieutenant's left side.

Seeing the three chairs pulled out for them, they quickly took a seat before the Lieutenant's desk. They saw the Lieutenant rub his eyes once with his hand, maybe to get tiredness cleared from them. Neither ensign nor the PFC was sure of gesture's meaning so they didn't comment on it.

The Lieutenant met his Hazel-Green eyes with each of theirs for a moment apiece, like though he was trying to determine how attentive the three of them were. In return they gave him their complete and undivided attention.

"Alright, first off I do apologize for the lateness of this. Sometimes things don't go according to plan and you have to improvise on the spot." The Lieutenant stared with a small sigh, for a moment his eyes briefly glanced over to the wall map before returning to them.

"Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford before I get started on the Unit's standing orders, how was your first day in the unit? No need for the formalities, it's late and we're all tired from the day." The Lieutenant asked with a friendly tone, he hadn't really had a chance to observe the two's reactions to what their duties now entailed.

Nor did he have the chance to see what their particular strong suites were. He needed to fix that sometime soon. Though the Lieutenant did think about charging his XO or Sergeants Banks with the task of observing the Ensigns and reporting back their talents to him, after all delegation was also part of an officer's duties.

Matilda glanced at the two models on the Lt's desk for a moment before meeting the Lt's eyes. "Exhausting but I'm glad to have helped out and learn some stuff." She said with a hint of unease creeping into her tired voice.

Mitchel had his eyes already locked on the Lt's when he looked over to him. "Not as Hectic as I first thought." Was the other Ensign's crisp reply to the question asked. The Lieutenant simply nodded before pulling a small folder from one of his desk drawers and thumbing it open.

"Alright, it's good to see that the two of you are adjusting to the unit pretty well. Now let's get this outta the way so we can all get some well-earned shut eye. Though don't be afraid to ask for clarification on some of these standing orders if I or the gunny here doesn't give it first. I know they can be quite strange when you first hear em." William said with a small amount of humor to his voice.

Sandbar, Jones and Crawford listened with rapt attention as the Lieutenant began. "Okay, first Standing order you should know is that you shouldn't give the PT Corgis too much sweet stuff. They'll get Hyper and become thirty times more difficult to manage."

William saw the three before him internalize that information and nodded slightly to signal him to continue. "Second standing order is also simple; never leave the PT Corgis alone with weapons or munitions." Now William saw confusion on the Ensign's and Sandbar's faces.

"Uh, can you explain that one sir?" Matilda asked with a bit of concern and a lot of confusion.

William gave her a small nod. "That's quite simple Ensign, PT Boat Crews during the Second World War mounted anything they could find to give their vessels additional firepower. This trait is still present with the PT Corgis. Though I've done what I've can to curb that behavior, it's still something intrinsic to them. Though for some reason, perhaps historical, they do prefer stealing the .50's and other weapon systems owned by the Army." William trailed off, the three seated before him glanced to one another with some lingering confusion on their faces but they nodded for William to continue.

"Standing order number three is also simple; you take the Peanut butter out and open it. You close it, even if you're just turning around to get something off the counter. Otherwise when you look back, one of the dogs has already licked most of the jar clean."

The Ensigns and Sandbar could only wonder how often this must have happened to have the Lt make a standing order about it. Jim saw this and spoke up.

"I know what y'all are thinking, and I'll say this. We went through twenty jars of the stuff in one day before the Lt went and made a Standing order to keep it from happening again. Those Corgis can be silent little buggers when they want to be." Jim said with a hint of irritation. After a moment of silence, William resumed.

"Standing Order number four is also simple. Never, _ever_ leave Private First Class Lisa Ellen alone with Destroyers. Not even for a Minute." William said with a fair amount of dread in his voice as his eyes flicked over to the office door.

Sandbar and the two Ensigns saw this, and saw the Gunnery Sergeant follow the same motion. Which only served to make the confusion they had about the order grow more intense.

"I don't quite understand sir." This time Crawford was the one speak up, a curious look was in his eyes. William sighed and met the Ensign's gaze with an empty stare before answering.

"The last time Ellen was left alone with Destroyers. They asked her for some advice on boys...she told them some _things_ and then a few hours later I have a Heavy Cruiser blowing down my damn Office Door. Demanding answers on what one of my Subordinates taught her Destroyers. I don't know about the three of you, but I and Clayton here sure as Hell don't wanna stare down eight inch guns again." William said with a fair bit of fear in his voice before Jim spoke up.

"If any of the three of you fuck up this one, we're leaving you at the Momboat's mercy." The Gunnery Sergeant said with a completely flat tone.

Ensign Jones, Ensign Crawford and PFC Sandbar all shared nervous looks at one another before they did their damn best to internalize the order. They did _not_ want to screw up that order. When William saw that they were ready he moved to the next order on the list.

"Standing Order number 5. Should the war situation change such that a Japanese Submarine is transferred to the Gulf Region, Pfc Ellen is under _no_ circumstances allowed to come into contact with said Japanese Submarine **_ever_**... Me and Clayton don't have to explain this one, _do we_?" The look both the Lieutenant and Gunnery Sergeant gave Jones, Crawford and Sandbar. Made the three of them nod their heads rather quickly in a manner not too dissimilar to a bobble head.

The Gunnery Sergeant and Lieutenant both gave sighs of relief for not having to explain the reasons for that order. After a moment to take a breath William continued once more.

"Standing Order number 6 is the Last Standing order regarding Private First Class Lisa Ellen. She is never allowed to meet the destroyer Fubuki, even if she's supervised, we're worried that the poor destroyer will break if she ever meets Ellen." William said as if though that was all that needed to be said about the subject.

Pfc Sandbar spoke up, clearly confused. "But uh sir, what does Fubuki have to do with Ellen to warrant a standing order like that?" Sandbar asked, before wilting under the combined flat gazes of the Lieutenant and Gunnery Sergeant.

"Raphael, you've seen Ellen enough to memorize what she looks like right?" William asked flatly.

"uhh, yes sir." Raphael said after a moment's hesitation. William's eyes looked over to the two Ensigns briefly before returning to the marine.

"Now I can forgive you for not understanding since you have likely not have seen a picture of Fubuki before, but if you looked at a picture of her and a picture of Ellen. You'll see that they look... eerily similar to each other." William said with some hesitation.

"You could practically say that Ellen looks like an older, curvier, and Green-eyed American Cousin to Fubuki." Jim added to which William nodded in silent agreement. Sandbar found his voice and asked the question neither Ensign was brave enough to ask.

"But sir, Fubuki is on the west coast running convoys to Japan. She's never going to be deployed here to the Gulf." Sandbar spoke with even more confusion than before. Once again Sandbar shrunk back in his seat, when the Lieutenant momentarily flashed a hard icy stare at the marine.

Though William dropped the glare after a sigh "I don't give two damns whether or not if it seems ever seems like that Ellen and Fubuki could ever meet. Be prepared for the possibility because I sure as hell don't want to find myself in a Situation where I'm starring down an angry Japanese Fleet Admiral for one of my Subordinates mentally breaking one of his Destroyers." He said with an icy flat tone, which snuffed out any further chances for conversation on the topic.

After a moment, the ice in his eyes melted to a hardened, somewhat fiery stare. "Standing order Number 7. If and _when_ briefings are given in the PT Briefing room; You are to remain holding onto the leather leashes provided to restrain each dog from tearing the projectors apart whenever the image of an abyssal is shown on screen at all times." William said with a level voice.

None of the three seated before William dared to ask for further explanation, they all had heard how ship girls got when they saw pictures of Abyssals. It wasn't that hard to figure how the dogs would react to the sight of them. However Ensign Crawford had an expression of undisguised concern cross his face as a thought came to his mind.

Jim saw this look and gave a short cough, William gave a small nod and the Gunnery Sergeant then spoke up. "I've got an idea what you're thinking there Ensign Crawford, and the answer is no. The dogs won't do anything to hurt you, even when they're growling and snarling at images of an abyssal spotted by recon planes." Jim said before taking a quick breath to continue.

"They won't turn round and bite ya. Nor will they yank ya arm outta yer socket if you decide to hold onto one of the wood posts in the briefing room. Trust me on that one. The dogs won't hurt you ever when we gotta brief them on something new spotted in the Gulf." The senior marine said in a gruff but comforting manner, not caring if his southern accent came out a bit.

Ensign Crawford and to a lesser extent the other two relaxed in their seats. Jim nodded to William once and the Lieutenant took a breath. Not only to ready himself for giving the remaining orders but to also prepare himself. For it was nearly time to give the last standing order. After quietly exhaling a bit, he looked at Sandbar and the Ensigns with the all the Authority he could muster.

"Standing order number 8, while it mostly applies to you two-" William shifted his gaze between the two Ensigns seated "-it's good that all of you hear it. No one of the unit is to pull rank on my designated XO and OPS officer of this unit besides me when it comes to matters regarding the unit." He only allowed a moment of silence before he resumed.

"That means if I learn that you tried to pull rank on Gunnery Sergeant Clayton here or Sergeant Banks, you will have to answer to me. Naturally this also means if anything happens to me. Gunnery Sergeant Clayton takes command of the unit. If anything happens to him, then command of the unit goes to Sergeant Banks." William said with a even tone.

Matilda swallowed the small lump that was forming in her throat before speaking up. "And if something also happens to Sergeant Banks, who does command of the unit go to then sir?"

The Lieutenant and the Gunnery Sergeant both smiled at the question. William gave a nod to Jim to take the helm for answering that question while he prepared himself for giving the last standing order.

"That's a good question ask Ensign. Should the CO, Designated XO and Designated OPS officer be incapacitated, KIA or otherwise unable to lead the unit; then command will default to the next most senior member of the unit. Which is CW-5 Sanderson, unless command of the unit is given over to the highest ranking individual present or is otherwise stated by the acting CO at the time." Clayton spoke with a calming, steady tone before going silent.

For a moment there was a heavy silence in the room as Sandbar, Jones and Crawford saw the Lieutenant draw in a deep breath. As if though he was preparing himself for something difficult to say.

William closed his eyes briefly and steadily exhaled. When his eyes opened, they had an intense fiery gaze in them. Yet at the same time there was a distance to them, a distance similar to a thousand-yard stare. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed as he spoke in a low voice.

"Standing Order Number 9 is an order..." William sighed and grimaced "That I hope _never_ has to be carried out. However it must be known for if the worst was to come. Should the Abyssals assault our base and make a ground invasion..." William trailed off as a lump formed in his throat. He swallowed it before gritting his teeth and continuing.

"Should escape or rescue be a total impossibility and those monsters are closing in on your position. Then you are not to be taken alive by them. Fight to very end, take as many of the bastards with you as you can, and bloody those you can't take with you. But under no circumstance are you allowed to allow yourself to be captured alive." The Lieutenant sucked in a breath between his gritted teeth before continuing. Not giving any of the three seated before him a chance to speak up.

"Furthermore...should during such a worst-case scenario any of you see Myself, The Gunnery Sergeant or anyone else of the unit being dragged off by those monsters alive. Then you are to draw your sidearm or whatever weapon you have on hand at the time and shoot us dead. We will do the same for any of you." William said with a deathly serious and even tone before he paused again to take a breath to steady himself.

The Lieutenant could see PFC Sandbar was in a state of shock. He also saw that Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford had disbelief and even outrage on their faces, they both looked like they were about to say something. William raised his hand to silence them for a moment, he hadn't finished speaking and he was going to finish this before he took their questions.

When the Lieutenant saw the Ensigns close their mouths with an audible click, he resumed. "To this end, each of you, as are all members of Dog Squad; are required to spend a minimum of four hours a week at the firing range doing target practice with your issued Sidearm or other qualified weapons until you have at least a sharpshooter's proficiency with your chosen weapon or weapons." William drew in another quick breath before resuming again.

"You may spend more than four hours a week at the firing range So long as your time at the range does not impact your assigned unit duties. Provided prior written notice and barring any unexpected developments occurring." William finished quietly with a strained voice.

The Lieutenant allowed his hand to fall back to his desk with a heavy thud. He gave a small nod to tell the Ensigns and Sandbar that they were free to speak now. And speak they did.

"Sir, with all due respect, why the hell do you have that as a Standing Order, Sir?" Ensign Crawford asked as he leaned forwards in his chair. William met the Ensign's eyes with a haunted gaze.

"Tell me Ensign Crawford. Have you ever seen an Abyssal ship first-hand?"

"N-no sir."

"Do you know what the things manning Abyssal ships look like Ensign?" William asked with a knife edge to his voice.

"No sir..." Ensign Crawford whispered quietly as he shrank back into his seat.

"I have, and I honest to god hope none of you ever have to." William said flatly as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk with his fingers stepped between one another. His Hazel-Green eyes focused on the Ensign like laser beams.

"And because of Gunnery Sergeant Clayton's connections within the Marine Corps and more specifically, the marines that retook Woody Island. I've seen the pictures and videos of the horrid fate that awaits anyone who is captured by those monsters…the aftermath of it anyways." William spoke the last part in a voice that was just above a quiet whisper.

"I don't wish that kind of fate unto anyone, most of all the people I command." It took everything William had to not shudder when he spoke of what the Marines that took Woody Island had found. He closed his eyes briefly to banish the fear he was feeling with his anger and intense undying hatred of the monsters.

When the Lieutenant opened his eyes again, the look of shell-shock and fear was gone from them. In its place was fire, a subdued but nigh all-consuming hatred. "And that is why I made a standing order for no one in this unit to be taken alive by those monsters should the worst ever come to pass."

William quietly exhaled through his nose before resuming "By all means, do everything you can to escape to live and fight another day if the bastards march up from the beaches onto land. However if escape proves impossible and if you aren't able to hold out somewhere for rescue, then make sure they don't take you alive. Do I make myself clear?"

"SIR! YES SIR!" Private First Class Raphael Sandbar, Ensign Matilda Jones and Ensign Mitchel Crawford responded on reflex. Though William saw on their faces a clear amount of fear scrawled across them. Though he did wonder whether or not if the fearful expression they had was due to what he told them or if it was due to him, He didn't know.

After a few moments of uneasy silence, William sighed and motioned for the three to leave. "I've finished briefing y'all on the unit's standing orders. If in case you need a reminder of them. Ask Gunnery Sergeant Clayton and he'll provide you with a written copy of the standing orders. The three of you are released for the night. Go get some shut eye. You all must be exhausted...I know I am."

The two Ensigns and PFC Sandbar got up from their chairs and hastily departed the office, unsure of how exactly to react to everything that had just transpired.

[=]

As the Office door started to close, its progress was momentarily halted as something small and fluffy came barreling into the room.

A few moments later the springs of the chair the Lieutenant was sitting in groaned slightly in protest as the PT Corgi jumped up from the floor into his lap. The Lieutenant smiled as the dog poked his chest with its snout, he knew the dog was trying to cheer him up in her own way.

He gave the dog a few ear scratches and a few head pats. "Good girl, that's a good girl. I know you're trying to cheer me up. Thank you." The Lieutenant said softly before he sighed again. This time he turned in his chair to face the Gunnery Sergeant.

"I hate having to give that order Jim, I honestly do." William said as he idly played with the PT Corgi's ears. His movements slowed as the exhaustion and drain of the day and now this affair took its toll on him.

"I know William, but I also know why you made that order and to be honest. After I saw what my buddies that retook Woody had seen. I can't blame ya for making that order. Shootin ya self or blowing ya self-up is far more preferable to _that._ " Jim said with undisguised disgust and horror regarding what the Woody Island Marines had found.

"Alright, enough of this crap, let's go get some shut yeah?" William said as he made to get up from the chair. The Pt Corgi hopped off his lap and was practically glued to his ankles as he got up and made his way to his Office door. Jim joined him by the door a moment later.

"Hey Jim, make sure those three have some time to go to the range tomorrow. Make it an order if you have to, okay?"

"I will William. Hell, I'll go to the range with them to give em pointers and finish out the last of my weekly required four hours while I'm at it." Jim said with small chuckle, which brought a small smile to William's face because he knew which weapon Jim favored to use at the range.

"Jim yer gonna make em Green with Envy with that BAR the PT Boats found and gave ya." William glanced down to the dog at his feet, which seemed to do the dog equivalent of becoming flustered. "Still can't figure out where they found one in mint condition though, it like it came right off the factory floor." The Lieutenant said with a curious stare directed at the PT Corgi before opening the door.

"MSSB perhaps?" Jim offered as an explanation. The two men looked at one another for a moment before laughing. After a few moments of chuckles they then parted ways and headed to their respective quarters.

It was perhaps a final good note to end an otherwise hectic and draining day.

[=]


	79. Wolfbait Chronicles 6

[=]

For Nachi, the recent reports of mines weren't the thing troubling her mind. They were bad, obviously, having claimed their fair share of victims, but it was something to the north, not the south, that had her furrowing her brows. The literal minefield had been replaced by a figurative one, but still no less dangerous.

She had been informed that the girl likely to be her future sister-in-law, one Catherine Hunter, had been committed to a mental hospital. The conversation with her mother had been tense, and rife with attempts to hide what she already knew: that someone had called her history, her suffering, and her hard-fought war a _lie_. Myoukou was kind enough to tell her as much, but the revelation didn't hurt any less. She had been split in three for her troubles some seventy years before, and had taken dozens of hits from artillery and torpedoes even in this life. Some of those wounds _still_ ached.

Cosplayer her _ass_.

Ironically she had somewhat fantasized about the moment. In being Cathy's sister, the girl would become their sister, complete with a complete, custom-tailored copy of their uniform, maybe even with a cute Japanese cruiser name bestowed upon her for good measure. She laughed, knowing of the bitter irony of it.

Naturally, the two future in-laws wouldn't be arriving, at least, not for a long time. But at least a potential disruption to her sister's happiness was now out of the way. Apparently Cathy had believed Ashigara to be little more than a paid whore, who would leave James heartbroken the moment a more desirable man came along. What a _joke_. Ashigara had definitely given off the impression of desperation, but had confided privately that she was looking for the one whose hand she felt when she stepped out of the water. She was not the type to betray, however, and as far as Nachi knew, none of them were. Not her sisters, not her comrades, and not any other one of their kind. She wasn't even sure if anyone would agree to being part of someone's personal flotilla, either.

Unfortunately, it was too early for a drink, and she had the day patrol, providing remote cover for the PT boat squadrons. Those little dogs worked hard, but raised all sorts of hell when they weren't out at sea. Apparently one of them had tried to drag off one of the massive rotary cannons that was being worked on, while jars of peanut butter, of all things, were repeatedly found mysteriously empty.

She heard the door swing open, cutting her line of thought short. Atago was standing, eyes drooping and head low. The night patrol had taken a toll on her, and she could see the blue-haired form of Urakaze clinging to her midsection. This is why they needed more ships, she quietly thought to herself as she rose from her seat, and dashed over to help the two.

She took hold of Atago's arm and wrapped it around the back of her shoulder, taking hold and guiding the exhausted cruiser to the bed. Shaking her head, Nachi couldn't help but pity the sight, somewhat. "Did you at least file your reports?"

Atago slowly nodded, before Nachi helped her onto the bed. She flopped on, Urakaze still stuck to her, and Nachi figured it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Sleeping dogs? " _I've spent way too much time here,_ " she quietly muttered to herself, before sighing. Turning around, she saw Hamakaze and Isokaze standing in the doorframe, concerned looks on their faces. Nachi put a finger to her lips, before stepping out and closing the door. "Where's Tanikaze?"

"She is eating, but has exhausted herself," replied Isokaze. "From what she said, the PT boat squadrons had a scare, and the night patrol was forced to extend themselves to investigate. However, they had sailed into a minefield and had to be rescued by more PT boats. Thankfully none struck them, but the experience had taken a toll on them, and now they require sleep."

" _Dammit,_ " hissed Nachi. "We need those minelayers found. I'm going to stock up on extra fuel for my floatplanes before we depart. I also require the reports from the night PT squadrons as well."

"I'm on it!" Hamakaze shouted before running off. Some soldier couldn't help but stare at the destroyer, only to feel as Nachi _glared_ at him, a subtle fire in her eyes as he quickly resumed his duties. Hopefully she wouldn't need to kick down any more doors, not after the incident in which her charges had learned some rather obscene things.

A small sigh escaped her. Nachi knew she'd rather sink in glorious battle rather than by striking a mine. Of their sisters, only Haguro had experienced that honor, even if it was against a squadron of destroyers sent specifically to hound her.

Dammit, what was with these dog puns?

Those corgis were getting to her, without a doubt. She'd need to transfer out at this rate, if she was to keep her sanity.

A buzzing in her pocket caught her attention, however. Reaching down, Nachi took out her phone and saw a familiar '330' number, that she had gotten over the Skype chat a few days before. "I need to take this," she told Isokaze, before ducking into an unoccupied conference room and shutting the door. "This is Nachi."

" _Nachi, it's Karen Hunter. I couldn't reach my son, and I think I n-need to talk to you about what happened._ "

The other woman sounded exhausted in her own right. "You'll have to make this fairly quick, for I have to run the daytime patrol soon," Nachi replied.

A sigh could be heard. " _S-Sorry about that, but…_ " There was a pause. " _H-Has my son talked to any of you about what's going on with my daughter?_ "

Nachi felt her stomach drop slightly. "He talked to Myoukou, Haguro, and Ashigara about it, yes. Myoukou filled me in. Apparently your daughter believed us to be…" she took a deep breath. Dammit, it was such an _insult_. "Actors, of some description?"

" _Yeah,_ " Hunter sighed. " _H-How did you take it, exactly?_ "

Nachi felt herself grip the side of her skirt, trying to keep herself calm. "We were deeply insulted by it," she flatly stated. Her breath grew heavier, as she recalled her elder sister's words. "Have you taken a bullet, Mrs. Hunter? Has something exploded in your face? Multiply that at least a hundredfold, and you may begin to imagine what it's like for me, every time I've sortied out both in this life and the last. I've felt far too much blood run down my decks, ever warm even as the bodies it left cooled off. I've heard countless screams of those who've died aboard me, and from those I've slain. When I learned that someone out there considers it all an _act_ , a _propaganda piece_ ," she hissed out the last part. "It makes every fight, every wound I've taken _worthless_. Take comfort in knowing those words are not directed towards you."

Another pause, and Nachi figured that Hunter was collecting herself. " _Cathy has… realized what she's done, now that she's gotten past the whole fairy thing. She's scared—_ "

"As she very much _should_ be," Nachi growled, cutting the other woman off. "She's fortunate that it was us rather than someone like Nagato, Kaga, Musashi, or your own battleships. I've heard _stories_ about the Grey Ghost, as well. What if _she_ were here and had caught wind of this?"

" _W-Which one was the Grey Ghost again?_ "

Nachi felt her hand meet her face. "Enterprise."

" _Oh._ "

"To challenge her was to court _death_. Regardless, we do not take kindly to anyone who denies our struggles. I pray your daughter improves in this regard." She hung up, letting out a deep sigh, before leaning herself against the wall. Her gloved hand slowly slid down her face, amidst the still air. "This is going to be the end of me…" 

[=]

Looking out the window, Catherine Hunter could barely see the Akron skyline, as snow came down steadily, coating everything white. The cold from outside faintly leaked through the window, as her tormentors looked with fascinated gazes. She had fallen into Hell itself, it seemed like. The colors were still faded, even though it had been several days since _they_ showed up, since _they_ brought everything she held to be the truth of the world crashing down.

Ships shouldn't be real, and yet when the doctors showed her the photos, told her what they saw, and asked her to truthfully speak what she saw, there was no more trying to… deal with it. She had it drilled into her head never to lie to a doctor, and so she signed off on what was no doubt the end of her life as she knew it. No travel, no jobs, no fucking chance. Nobody could trust her after this.

A knock on her door grabbed her attention. "Come in…" she said, sighing. The door opened, and the scent of fresh-cooked breakfast filled the room. Eggs, sausages, and a breakfast burrito, alongside orange juice. The nurse placed the tray beside her bed, as Cathy walked over and sat down. The woman's eyes were following the them, as they made their way onto the bed. Her eyes were wide, before she stepped out of the room, the door shutting quietly.

She ate up, with what was left given to _them_. How they could eat normal food was beyond her. But then again, their existence was, and she was clueless. The past few days left her clueless, and unable to do anything but mope and berate herself.

Cathy hugged her knees to her chest, as she found herself doing every day. Her thoughts drifted to that dark place, what was left of her shelter from the storm that had gripped the world. She was forced to take stock once again, this time with forcibly-opened eyes.

Her brother was fighting against inhuman horrors, mockeries of people and machines that sought to kill all they saw, and who could only be countered by similar mockeries, who wanted to sleep with all they saw. Hell, he had been engaged for the past few days, against some freak that hit Sasebo.

One of them had taken notice of him, who called herself Ashigara, who Cathy could tell was doing it out of desperation. That would never change. Some nine-year-old girl messed with forces she shouldn't have, and the end results were in her room, wanting something with her. Maybe it was for her to play with them, like her Polly Pockets years ago, or maybe it was some naïve attempt to get her to be happy once more.

"Poi?"

The word was spoken clear as a bell. That damned word, that damned meme. Yuudachi was a massive dumbass, and probably had some kind of disorder, if all she said was 'poi.'

"Au!"

Looking over, she could see the small representation of Shimakaze on the floor, having no doubt tripped itself. She had seen an image of the girl, who looked two or three years younger, and wore clothes that were about as tasteless as they were obscene. A brown-haired one, a small representation of who she presumed to be a sister to Yuudachi, if the clothes meant anything, helped the blonde up. "Shigu…"

They were like damned Pokemon, all saying one word, usually some shortened version of their counterparts' names. She didn't want to catch 'em all, though. She'd much rather they leave, and never return. She so desperately wanted this to be a bad dream, but bad dreams didn't last years.

Another knock on the door, as her shrink popped in. He had his laptop on him, before setting it up on the windowsill. "Mornin', Cathy. How are you feelin'?"

It was the same mood she had since she got here. "Like shit."

He typed, the keyboard clacking away for a few seconds. "Have you experienced anything unusual? Any nightmares, episodes, things like that?"

A sigh left her. "I saw my brother get married when I was sleeping. It was Ashigara, and I wanted to stop it, but the others…" she swallowed. "They had me at gunpoint."

More typing, as the experience was put down on a document to be filed away somewhere. He sipped on something, disgusted at the taste. " _Damn this lack of coffee…_ " he quietly muttered to himself. "So, do you fear that they'll retaliate?"

"What do you _think_!?" Exclaimed Cathy, tears falling down her eyes. "My brother's probably told every last one of them, because he can't keep his stupid fucking mouth shut! 'Woe is me, because my sister wanted me to _help my family_ instead of going off to _die_!'"

The doctor paused, rubbing his chin as he tried to think of a response. "Yes, you've mentioned your brother a lot. You've repeatedly called him foolish for the reasons you've stated, but have you stepped in his shoes?"

"Oh, I know _exactly_ what he's thinking!" Cathy spat out. "'Oh, I'm finally free of my sister and her increasingly psychotic nature! Now I can go out and kill in the name of humanity and fuck some lovely-looking women while my family goes to shit!'"

"Is that how he would put it?"

Cathy nodded. "Though he wouldn't outright say that he wanted to fuck those women."

More typing followed, before the doctor turned back around, putting his hands on his lap. "What exactly did you wish for your brother to help with, in regards to your family?"

She huffed, gripping the sheets. Cathy wanted so desperately to beat the shit out of her brother, and ensure that he would be unable to have sex with a woman. Ever. But he wasn't here, only some shrink. " _To be the man,_ " she growled. "Our dad dropped dead of a heart attack because my grandmother hated his guts, thinking that he had 'corrupted,'" she made air quotes. "Her precious Christian baby into believing in black magic and being all Satanist. All Jimmy had to do was get angry. He's a beautiful sight when he gets angry…" She let out a bitter laugh. How he verbally tore one of the cliques at school to shreds was something she'd never understand, but those bitches had it coming.

"And this would have solved the issue with your grandmother?"

A nod. "She would have seen what she was doing to her own family. He would have taken every word she said and used it against her. He would have made an ass out of her. And maybe if he showed some goddamn spine…" She couldn't bear to finish that sentence.

A low hum escaped the doctor. He probably didn't believe her one bit. Fuck him. "Now, as I understand, your brother is involved with a shipgirl?"

"He _shouldn't_ be," she spat. "She's _desperate_. I could tell. Ashigara is only in it so that she can say she got laid or something. Once she's used him, she'll move on. I don't want him to die, and I don't want him to be heartbroken like that, either. My friends liked him, especially Riley, but he just ignored them, gazing at that stupid model of his before he left."

"Stupid model?"

Cathy groaned. "He had a model of some old Japanese battleship and he called it 'Ashigara.' He did so because of an old school project our teacher gave us."

"'Our' teacher?"

She nodded, before loosening her grip, swinging her legs off of the bedside. "We had the same teacher, who was from a navy family. We had to research some old ship, and I couldn't really give a shit. All I remember about mine is that she got into some fight in which she somehow survived alone." A sigh left her. "Of course, she's probably back, and I'm sure Jimmy's told her about it because he can't keep his stupid mouth shut, and she probably hates me."

"Which leads us back to a point I was hoping to raise with you. You believe that the shipgirls will hate you?"

Another nod. "He's probably told Ashigara about me. Her sisters probably know, too, and I'm not sure what's going to keep them from marching on over here and tearing me limb f-from limb…" she sniffled. Once more, the realization that she had fucked up was crashing down upon her, and the price was going to be immense.

"And what if that's not the case?"

Anger gripped her once more. " _You don't know my brother,_ " she growled. "And people talk nowadays. How many bad jokes have you seen blown out of proportion on Twitter?"

He stared blankly for a moment, before letting out a silent sigh. "Do you suspect that your name is going to be all over social media, then?"

"At least in Japan." She really shouldn't have called Myoukou a 'lying bitch' on Instagram, in hindsight. And now a bunch of otaku scum were going to threaten to kill her because she dared insult their waifu.

He typed away, before pulling up something and typing into it. Looking closer, she could see that it was an email being written, though to whom, she couldn't tell.

"I'm going to take my leave early for today, but I'm beginning to see a little more progress, and when I come back, hopefully we can help you progress further, alright?"

She couldn't stand to face the doctor, but nodded anyway. The door closed, leaving her alone with her tormentors. They didn't want to kill her, but, well…

Once again, she couldn't really think.

"Poi?"

Cathy watched as the tiny counterpart to Yuudachi climbed onto her hand, making a motion with its hand, patting its head.

"Poi!"

Raising a finger, she tapped, causing it to smile warmly. She felt tiny strands of hair, soft and fine, one of the many things that separated it from a doll.

But something caught her eye, as she turned to look out the window. The snow had stopped, and the sun was beginning to shine.


End file.
